


Requiem

by Iscynicismatalent



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Season 8? Don’t know her sorry, and Arya? She would’ve hit it earlier had she been of age, arya and Gendry separating after all that trauma together? Not in this household, idk just read and you’ll see sweetums, kinda angsty, we evaluate Gendry correctly, we know what he wants
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 20:44:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18599071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iscynicismatalent/pseuds/Iscynicismatalent
Summary: At five and ten, Arya Stark ran away from Kingslanding after her father’s beheading. Her last resort was to head to the brotherhood and escape from them towards Winterfell disguised as a boy. Only that doesn’t exactly happen.Aged up Arya and Gendry because I said so.





	1. Chapter 1

Arya was not a stranger to fear. 

She knew fear. When she heard her father was going to be the king’s hand as she eavesdropped on two of the guards, she felt fear. When she rode horseback alongside Nymeria, she feared the septa finding her after she had escaped needlework and sending her to her furious mother. When Nymeria attacked the dramatic prince Joffrey, she feared her life. When Jon had said he would be leaving to take the black and join the nightswatch, she was fearful of her favorite brother leaving her. Her Jon, her beloved bastard. But this was beyond fear, this was vulnerability, she was absolutely helpless. Arya and her sister Sansa had gone to Kingslanding alongside her father and the royal family. She had already lost her favorite brother, she couldn’t stand to lose her father too. Though, she would miss little Rickon, Robb who sparred with her when she begged hard enough, and her comatose brother Bran. Lively Bran who was always moving, laughing, and climbing things was now bedridden. And Arya wasn’t stupid. She knew the consequences of the fall. He’d never climb again. Nor would he ever chase baby Rickon or attempt to flee from Arya’s grasp in a game of tag. It was a sad thought, but she wouldn’t allow herself to believe such naive things. Wishful thinking wasn’t going help her get through the maniacal claws of the people in court at the Red Keep. 

The court of Kingslanding was ruthless. Honor was not a trait that they valued. They admired it, yes. But they didn’t strive to uphold an image of honor - no they strived for power and respect through fear. They were a horrid bunch. Lords and Ladies that dishonored each other and treated people beneath their social status as if they were inferior. Arya detested people like that. It didn’t matter how rich they were, they still lacked basic human decency. Even at the age of twelve, Arya knew that they weren’t people to be trusted. Sansa, although older than her but not by much, believed that they were the elite and most respectable people she would ever meet. Sweet, beautiful thirteen-year-old Sansa didn’t think the court could do harm. In fact, she thought they elevated your status. But they didn’t. They stripped you of your title, trying to find anything they could grip their talons on. They rummaged for scandals and gossiped behind other lords and ladies backs.

“Arya, don’t go too fast. You must be by my side at all times, we’re no longer in Winterfell.”

She nodded her head at her father’s demand. They weren’t in Winterfell that was for sure. She could already see the Red Keep in the distance. The corner of Arya’s mouth twitched at the sight. It reeked of shit and death. It was most definitely not Winterfell. Winterfell was beautiful and full of cold, glistening snow that shone under the soft light of the moon at night. Kingslanding was hot. Arya could feel her tunic sticking to her sweaty skin. When they had left Winterfell, Sansa had scolded her for refusing to ride in the carriage with her and for wearing breeches and a tunic. Her boots were dirty with mud and her hair was in a simple braid unlike Sansa’s fiery intricately knotted locks. If her lady mother was here right now, she’d have been scolded and punished for her attire. But she wasn’t here. And her father condoned her unlady like behavior and appearance as long as she didn’t get out of hand. Even though her mother enraged her, she felt homesick and the need to be in her arms. They’d been traveling for five long moons. Arya did enjoy them though. Playing in the open for as long as she wanted, and riding her beautiful steed without being called for embroidering lessons. The queen often glared at her for her antics while the king praised it, comparing her to her deceased aunt. 

“Arya? Are you listening to me?”

Arya sheepishly smiled at her father. He had told her something but she was too lost in her thoughts to pay attention.

“Of course I was… Only you should repeat it so that I don’t forget.”

Ned Stark smiled at his daughter as the men around them chuckled. The fat king smiled too at her comment. It was too quiet. Even with Tommen and Myrcella here. They were always inside the carriage with the queen and Sansa.

“We are here, my little wolf.” 

Arya looked ahead as the gates opened and she mounted off her horse along with the others as the children and women climbed out of the carriage. Sansa gushed at the large castle, claiming it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen in her life. The queen nodded approvingly and Myrcella shrugged, not impressed by the castle she called home. Arya wasn’t very impressed either. She snorted. It wasn’t as magnificent as she was told it would be. Perhaps the garden would be more impressive. Then she remembered the foul stench of the outside. Arya didn’t think she’d ever get used to the smell. While King Robert and her father made their way further into the castle, she was escorted to her room where she’d put her trunks in. The room was near her father’s and Sansa’s. Sansa’s was furthest by request of Myrcella. She wanted her friend near her. As for Arya, she had no friends. Except for her father’s bannermen. They were kind and the only people besides her family that she felt comfortable around. During feasts in Winterfell, she would sneak away for her mother and sister to play and jest with the people of Wintertown and the soldiers. Arya was anything but unfriendly to people unless they were mean to her. 

As the men helped carry the trunks into her room, she had protested at first but the men of the Red Keep weren’t going to leave her alone until she accepted, she sat down on the soft bed. The covers were made of silks and were of the Baratheon colors. Arya groaned at the sheer boredom that she was left to deal with alone. Tommen was too fat and slow to play with, and Myrcella and Sansa were in the gardens while Queen Cersei was probably somewhere getting drunk on wine. The only person Arya thought the Queen got along with was her brother. Not the clever imp that went with her brother Jon to Castle Black, but the one that looked more like a king than Robert Baratheon himself. Arya had heard stories about King Robert during the war for her aunt Lyanna. Her father said he used to be big and burly with muscles like a maidens fantasy. Now he was just fat with a belly full of ale and food. She couldn’t imagine the man being handsome. He often stared at her. She had a feeling she knew why. Ned Stark had told her she was growing into the ghost of his sister Lyanna. She was as willful and wild as she was, he had told her. But her aunt was said to be beautiful, something she wasn’t. Her sister and her best friend Jeyne Poole called her Arya horseface. She loathed the name, often charging at her sister like a feral wolf earning a punishment from both her mother and father. 

Arya then had the urge to explore the castle. There were still dragon skulls hidden in secret stairways and doors. She opened the trunk of dresses and rummaged for her precious needle, a gift from Jon. She contemplated changing her tunic and breeches that stunk of sweat and earth. She decided against it and sheathed needle onto her hip. Opening the door quietly and peeping her head through the crack, she checked for bystanders. They would surely stop her if they saw the dirty girl creeping around with a sword. She gently closed the door, making sure not to make enough noise to attract attention. It seemed unnecessary Arya realized. The people of the castle were all busy in a meeting provided by the king. She walked many halls, awed at the never ending quality of the castle. Hours had passed when she found the dragon skulls. She was lost and he seen a pitch dark entry in one of the infinite hallways. Arya looked around for a torch, finding one eventually. Her footsteps echoed and she fumbled with the end of her messy braid. Her gray eyes gazed at the colossal head of the dead dragon. It’s teeth were large and sharp. Sharper than any other sword she had ever seen. She wasn’t scared, she was amazed by it’s size and it’s sharp talons. The corners of her lips curled upwards into an amazed smile. Then she heard voices. She quickly looked for a place to hide. She took cover behind the dragon’s skull. 

“No… Jaime…”

The voices weren’t distinct, they were muffled and she could scarcely make out what they were saying, but she swore she heard the Queen’s brother’s name. 

“Just a child… Don’t worry…”

Arya tried not to breathe too hard, afraid she’d be caught by somebody who wasn’t kind to little girls exploring the keep. She gathered her courage and unsheathed needle in case she was seen. 

“Wait… torch… somebody was here…” 

Her breathing stopped completely. Preparing for a fight, she gripped needle harder with both of her petite hands. She may have been small for a twelve year old but she was fast with her thin stature. The noise of footsteps closing in on her hiding spot made her heart race faster, her chest was tight with anxiousness. The empty feeling in her stomach died down when they went past her and didn’t see her small body near the in the dragon’s large body. A more fearful feeling emerged when she heard what the strangers said clearly.

“There’s no one here. I was afraid I’d have to get rid of another Stark child,” the person laughed morbidly. Only it wasn’t any person. It was Jaime Lannister speaking to the Queen.


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one’s short. I was just lazy.

Arya nearly whimpered at the sound of his voice. 

Another Stark child? Bran. 

The fear that overtook her body was then replaced with anger. Anger towards the Lannister’s for causing the possible demise of her little brother. She wanted to scream and attack the pretty knight. But she suppressed the urges, reasoning that she couldn’t tell her father without a head. Upon hearing their conversation hush the further they went through the dark passages, she clumsily tried to exit through the mouth of the dragon without making a peep. Arya jumped from stair to stair to get back towards the surface of the large castle. It was more crowded with people searching for something. When they saw her, she realized they were searching for her. Her father’s worried face came to view. 

“Arya! Where have you been? We’ve been looking all over for you,” he exclaimed furiously. Sansa had approached them, hugging her with a sigh of relief when she told him where she had been. 

“I was looking for the dragons. I was bored so I wandered around the Keep.” Arya pried her sisters arms away, scrunching her nose at the scarce affection displayed by her sister to her. The eldest frowned, glaring at her. 

“I was afraid, you know. You were gone for so long… I thought you had slipped on one of the stairs and cracked your head. Or you got lost and accidentally trapped yourself somewhere dangerous here,” Sansa cried. Arya rolled her eyes at her sister’s dramatic proclamation. 

“Dear sister, you didn’t seem very concerned for my well being when you left me for the prince and princess. You seemed ecstatic even to be rid of my obnoxious presence.” Arya May have exaggerated too a little. But she didn’t care. Sansa had been treating her unfairly as if she were the cause of her direwolf’s death instead of the Queen. Arya wasn’t going to stand by it.

“Well, you are obnoxious! You act more like my brother than my sister! Prince Joffrey and Princess Myrcella were giving me a tour of the gardens! It’s not my fault they excluded you.”

Arya growled at Sansa. 

“Enough! You two are sisters, I expect you to act as such. Sansa, stop ignoring and fighting with Arya. Same goes for you, Arya,” her father warned. The sisters glared at each other before walking to their rooms to change for dinner. But before Ned could walk away, Arya clutched his arm. 

“Father, I have to tell you something.” 

She then felt Lannister eyes on her. She decided against it, opting to tell him during the feast where she could tell him over the loud ruckus. Surely they wouldn’t hear her.

“I’ll… I’ll tell you later.”

He nodded warily and disappeared into the confines of his room.

Arya was expected to wear a dress, but she knew she could easily change into another pair of breeches if she could avoid the annoying septa. Searching through her trunk, she finally found a clean pair, shrugging off her clothes and putting them on. She avoided showering. She’d just do that after she ate. Exiting the room, it dawned her that she’d be in the same room as the Lannisters. Arya was never good at hiding her emotions, she was impulsive and too emotional. Hells had no fury like Arya when she was angry. And when she was sad, seldom as it was, she acted irrationally. But putting on a passive front was necessary if she wanted to survive the court of lions and predators. Her father was good at hiding certain feelings he knows are dangerous, but he wasn’t good at lying. He was too trusting. And little Arya knew that it was a fault he’d have to learn to correct in the Keep. When arriving the table of royals, she was met with stern eyes. She understood exactly why their eyes held a stern glint. She was late. Again, just like all the other times when the Baratheon’s were at Winterfell. She ignored their looks, save for Robert’s soft gaze, and walked towards her seat next to her father’s. 

“You’re late, Arya.”

Arya resisted the urge to roll her eyes at his obvious comment. 

“I was busy changing out of my dirty clothes. Father I-“

“A quick toast to the King’s honorable new hand! Ned, I look forward to your council in the future. Hopefully, Kingslanding will improve to an insufferable shithole to a tolerable shithole!” King Robert bellowed, interrupting Arya. The men laughed at the King, banging their cups against each other. While they opted for ale, the ladies leaned towards the delicacy of red wine. The entire room was drunk, making it easy for Arya to grab her father by the arm and lead them through the doors and into the quiet of the hall. 

“My little wolf, you’ve looked shaken since I found you. Is something wrong? Did anybody hurt you? Touch you,” her father tensely asked. She hugged him and buried her face in the crook of his neck, tears falling for her happy Bran that would no longer be able to walk or climb, and she didn’t know if he would wake from his comatose state. His laughter was an echo her ears that she was sure she’d never hear again. 

“Father, The kingslayer.”

She didn’t know how to tell him. Would he even believe her ludicrous accusation? It could have been her imagination, hearing those precise words. But she knew they weren’t. And she knew her father would believe her. They were a pack. The only people they could trust were each other. 

Ned Stark placed his hands on her face, cupping it. 

“Yes? What of him? Did he hurt you?” 

His hands were shaking from concern. She knew later they’d be shaking from anger. 

“Not me…Bran.”

“Impossible. Arya, Brandon is Winterfell, he’s-“

“He pushed Bran,” she whispered into his ear. He turned deathly white. 

“Arya, you’re making serious accusations that could get you in trouble with the Queen. Where did you hear this?”

Arya frowned deeper. 

“There are tunnels that eventually lead to the ruins of dragon bones. I was searching for them, and when I found them I heard the voices of the Queen and her brother. They were both arguing at first. It was hard to understand what they were saying at first as I was hiding. Then, one of them noticed the lit torch I left on the floor, they knew somebody was hiding, but they didn’t find me. When they didn’t find anybody, I heard him say,” I was afraid I’d have to get rid of another Stark child.” 

Ned Stark could see his daughter trembling, out of fear or out of anger he didn’t know. But he knew what he had to do.

“We can’t let anybody know.”

Arya stepped back, her eyebrows knit together. 

“You don’t believe me?”

“I believe you! But we can’t let them know we know. The king is in major debt, he needs Tywin so there’s nothing we can do about that. Tywin will fight tooth and nail for his son and daughter, ignoring the King’s need for economic assistance until the tongue of the accuser is cut off. It’ll insult him, truth or not. And you’ll only put yourself and your sister in danger.”

Arya looked away, her expression blank. The light of the torches in the hallway weren’t bright enough for her father to see the shining of tears in her eyes. She was thankful for that. 

“What do we do now, Father? We’re surrounded by fools, by child killers. Sansa is already fooled, what if she… gets hurt by one of them too? Or worse, what if she becomes like them?” Arya’s voice shook and her father could see how threatened she felt. Anybody who hurt her family was hurting her. She was raised to put family and honor before anything else. They were her pack. 

“Arya…”

“And I’m not leaving you. Don’t tell me to leave you because I won’t.”

Ned Stark saw the sheer determination in her eyes as she glared at the wall behind him.

“It may be the only way, my dear. I don’t want you to stay-“

“I’m not going! I refuse. Send Sansa, she’s hopeless, but not me.”

“I can’t… she’s betrothed to the Prince. Robert’s too set on the marriage. But I can at least sleep better with one of my children out of harms way.”

Arya growled, refusing to give in.

“No. I will not. It’ll seem suspicious if I leave so soon.”

Ned looked at his daughter. He knew he could wait a decent amount of time before sending her back with an excuse, but he couldn’t say no to her. Her wide doe like eyes that were a pair of hard steel that he couldn’t deny. So, with a heavy heart he agreed. 

“I need you to be more careful. When you see something peculiar, don’t explore further. And Arya…”

“Yes, Father?” She asked, her voice airy with relief.

“I’ll not have my daughter defenseless and not knowing how to use her sword.”

“How do you know about Needle?”

“You’ll start lessons. I need you on the top of your toes.”

Arya beamed at that. 

Her mother never allowed her lessons, her father hadn’t minded. Had it not been for her lady mother, she would’ve been a fine fighter by now. At least, better than Bran. The thought of Bran made her sad again. 

“We better get back before the king eats the entire feast,” her father smiled fondly.

Arya laughed at his attempt of humor to lighten the mood and take her mind of Bran. Ned thought it was his job to worry about his son, not hers. She should be paranoid and on edge about her life, not others.

“I doubt he hasn’t already.”

“And Arya, needle?”

Arya laughed at his baffled expression.

“Named after my favorite thing.”

Arya walked hand in hand with her father towards the doors and into their seats. 

She could hear the boisterous laughter from the king with a whore on his lap. But that didn’t get her attention. It was the quietness of the Queen that stood out to her. She was deathly quiet as she sipped her wine. It was something she thought the king and her had in common. Their affinity for alcohol. It seemed they were both always drunk. One was loud and had no filter, the other was more blunt and vicious. 

These were the people she’d have to avoid. 

These were the people that determined her for the better or worse of it.


	3. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said, this is DIFFERENT! Don’t come at me please. I’m incredibly sensitive. Also, if you can’t tell my writing is okay at best, so i apologize in advance for weird dialogue and repetitive phrases.

Three years Later

 

The sound of practice swords against each other echoed in the sunlit room. 

Arya’s arms burned, trying to keep up with the speed of her water dance instructor, Syrio Forel. Nonetheless, she grinned at the collision of their weapons. Her heart was beating fast and sweat collected on her brow. Her breathing was heavy, matching her instructors quick swordsmanship. She had undoubtedly gotten better since she began lessons when she was ten and 2. The young woman practiced as much as she could, becoming as much of a warrior as she could. She wanted to be a knight. She would’ve taken the black to be with her brother Jon and to see beyond the wall, but they didn’t take women. Plus, her father would never let her. He loved her and respected her wishes, but he still believed she’d marry a lord. She had just turned fifteen, meaning marriage was not very far. She’d be lying if she didn’t admit that she contemplated running away. But her father and sister who still had yet to wed the prince, she still hadn’t bled. People began to speculate if she’d be able to bear a child. When Arya heard these rumors, she glared her nostrils at the court people insulting her sister. Sansa was a pain in her arse but she was still her sister. 

A sharp pain bolted through her arm. Syrio had hit her with his sword.

“Ow!”

“Distractions lead to death, Child. What is on your mind?” Syrio sat on the table, barely fazed by their sparring. She wiped the sweat off her forehead, looking for the pitcher of water to quench her thirst.

“Syrio, I’m not a child anymore. My father has been talking about sending me away for marriage… He’s been gone lately. Perhaps to meet eligible bachelors. But… as much as I want to make my family proud for once- the gods know I’ll never look or act like a pretty, proper lady. But I don’t want to get married. I fear…” she didn’t finish instead clutching the pitcher until her knuckles were white. Syrio felt bad for the young woman. Yes, it was true she was no longer a child. She had grown not only mentally, although she did throw fits when forced into gowns or when she was insulted by a lord or lady, but also physically. She was still short, only growing three inches. She had, however, grown into a beautiful young woman. When she had arrived, it was hard to distinguish her from a boy. She constantly had to correct people that it was girl not boy. Now it was apparent with her growing breasts and hips. She wasn’t as curvy as her sister, but she was muscular and toned. Her pants were tighter on her bottom now, something that the mean of the castle noticed, something she hated. When she caught the king looking once, she seethed. Her beauty brought unwanted attention. Her sister often sneered when she caught the prince looking once. And the Queen grew wary. Everybody said she looked more and more like the beauty that was her aunt Lyanna, specifically Robert. When he saw her, his eyes grew lecherous and his face pink with a flush of lust. Arya often excused herself early when she caught the king staring too much. Her father noticed too. When Robert was around, he made sure to stay by her side at all times. 

“In Bravos, women have the freedom to choose how they live their lives, their professions. I wish you had that opportunity, Girl. You weren’t made for this life, but those words you speak-”

“Family, duty, honor. My mother’s words, yes. You know, I wrote to my mother and she hasn’t written back. I miss her, Syrio. I miss my brothers. I miss winterfell. I hope they decide to visit. Mother always says she can’t. That Robb can’t rule by himself, and that there must always be a Stark in Winterfell. And sometimes I dream about leaving.

But I don’t. I don’t want to leave my sister and father in the lions den by themselves. They’d tear them apart. We’re a pack. We stick together.”

Syrio was curious, he knew the atrocities of the court. He wasn’t stupid, he was only foreign. He knew of the corruption that lurked in the Red Keep. He had seen it. He knew Arya was keen, noticing things most didn’t. There were nights when he’d catch her in the halls, quietly searching for things. And her father let her work with him when she was bored, she was helpful at times.

“What could you possibly have to worry, Child? Your father is a war veteran, he’s-”

“Not as strong as he used to be.”

“But he’s still smart.”

Arya looked thoughtful for a moment.

“He is. But he trusts too easily. It’ll kill him if he’s not careful.”

Syrio grimly stared at her. She was too knowing fo her age. She should still be enjoying her adolescence. He thought it was unfortunate that she had to grow up quickly, she deserved more time before she wed. 

“And you, Girl? You confide in a man who is not your blood or your people. Why is that? I could use these things against you.”

Arya chuckled, amused by the idea of the kind, stern dance instructor that treated her like a daughter turning against her.

“Not possible. You’re my friend,” she said. 

Syrio dismissed her not long after. They said their farewells then retreated to their respective bed chambers. On her way to her chambers, she saw her father. She hadn’t seen him all day, so she decided to wait on her bath. 

“Father!” 

He looked at her and instantly smiled. Arya had been asking to help him with his papers, trying to learn more about the seven kingdoms. He didn’t doubt that when she married, she’d be a good lady, helping the poor and maintaining a good kingdom alongside her husband. She jogged towards him. 

“My little wolf, done with practice already?”

Arya nodded her head, explaining to him how much Syrio had told her she had improved. The only people she spoke to in Kingslanding were her father, Syrio, and Winterfell’s bannermen. The only people she trusted with her life was her father and Syrio. Mostly her father. When she first told him of the Kingslayer, he didn’t want to involve her in political matters no matter how much she pleaded. He sent her and Sansa with the septa to continue to teach them how to be proper ladies. She retaliated by hiding from her needle lessons and spending more time practicing water dancing. Ned, knowing that if he compromised she’d become more cooperative, decided that he’d share and accept her help if she continued to behave appropriately. She became somewhat of a lady in the end. 

“Father… you’ve been busy lately. I don’t get to see you as much. Did you find something out?” She whispered.

Arya had noticed Ned’s far away expression. He didn’t look like he was listening to her. Something told her it had to do with the work she had helped him with before. She had caught him with papers and books with odd titles, he later clarified that he saw something peculiar in Jon Arryn’s death. Arya had been stunned at first. But as she helped her father do more research, she didn’t understand exactly what about Lord Arryn’s death they were looking for, she saw something strange in the book her father said Lord Arryn had read before his death. Namely, the description of Baratheon children. Black hair, blue eyes. It didn’t seem odd unless you thought about it further. Myrcella, Tommen and Joffrey didn’t have the black hair and blue eyes that every Baratheon recorded had. Arya had told her father, not hesitating or doubting the gut feeling in her that said that this was important. Her father too had an off feeling about the discovery. He sent her away afterwards, saying that it could be potentially dangerous. She scoffed but left, wanting alone time too to break apart the situation. She didn’t know what to think, but she knew it could get the Lannister’s in trouble. Needless to say, she was going to convince her father to tell her about what made him weary lately. 

“Arya, I can’t tell you. I don’t think it’s right, darling. I know you don’t like being kept in the dark, you want to help. But you could get into trouble.”  
“Father, I can help you! I’ve done so many times. And I can protect myself, Syrio said I’m probably stronger than half of the knights in this bloody keep!” 

“Arya, I don’t deny your help often. However, this can put your life in danger if somebody bad knows you hold this information. You already know too much, my sweet child.”

Arya didn’t think the information they uncovered was major enough to spark the interest of a knife to the heart. Now she was more interested. Then it dawned her.

“My life in- what about yours! You putting your life at risk is basically putting us in danger too. I can’t let you do this by yourself. Two wolves are better than one.” Arya’s heart was heavy in her chest, unable to beat at the fact her father could possibly be assasinated if heard or seen with the wrong books or scrolls. Jon Arryn died because of something nobody but him knew. What if that was her father’s fate. She wouldn’t allow it. Arya knew that he wouldn’t share what he knew, so she thought that she’d put her acting skills to use. If something good came out of living in Kingslanding, it was learning how to fool someone. Arya knew she wasn’t as good at lying as she’d prefer to be, but she was still okay at it. This was going to be harder than fooling the septa though. This was her father. The only man she’d ever love in her life besides her brothers. It hurt her to have to lie. But she had to know. She could see something that he didn’t. He’d have somebody looking after his back. 

“My pup,” he began as he cupped her cheek and pressed her against his chest,” you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into. You and your sister are too precious for me to leave. You’re lucky I haven’t sent you back to Winterfell like I should’ve when you found out about the Kingslayer and told me. Promise me that you will not investigate. Arya, look at me and promise you won’t.”

“Okay...I won’t. I promise, just be careful.” 

Despite her still being a little sweaty, Ned kissed her forehead as a sign of affection. She almost flinched when she said that she wouldn’t. The guilt weighed in her heavily as she glumly walked towards the direction of her room. And when she felt the warm water of her bath, she began to ponder with a clear head. The maids insisted that they help her, but, like always, she told them that she was fine and capable. Scrubbing her arms, she thought of the role the Lannister’s probably played in the scandal her father possibly found out.

Cercei has a role in this, Arya thought.

They were her children after all. She knew the Queen would do anything for children. Especially the brat prince that would marry her sister.

The only reason she’s marrying that twat is because he’s pretty. He looks like the queen and her killer brother more than his own father. 

Arya sat up in the bath, the water noisily swishing in the tub. The queen had a son before Joffrey, she read about him. A little baby boy that only drew few breaths before he died. He had blue eyes and black hair. 

What if the Queen had an affair. 

Arya knew it was dangerous territory her mind was wondering at. But she couldn’t help but theorize the possibilities. And the Queen having an affair didn’t seem unthinkable. It wasn’t a very preposterous accusation to make in her mind. She didn’t have a good relationship with the king, it was rocky at best. He whored around and drunk more than what should be humanly possible. And she abhorred the man. It seemed every time she saw him, she was seething. Robert’s presence was revolting to her. Arya could easily see why, he dishonored her in more ways than one. She wasn’t as clever in his mind as she was in everybody's eyes. To him, she was a scheming bitch. Robert didn’t enjoy Cersei’s presence either. It felt… right.

“Lady Arya, are you okay?”

Arya looked up at the doors, mouth open and mind racing. She willed her voice steady when she replied.

“Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.”

“Lady Sansa invited you out for a walk along the garden. She says it’s urgent.”

Arya perked up at the sound of Sansa’s name. 

Urgent news?

“Thank you for informing me. You ladies may go, I can dress myself.”

They reluctantly did as she said, used to her dismissive nature. She didn’t like help. 

Arya looked for a clean tunic when she found Sansa’s gift that she had made for her to wear on her name day celebration. She had made her more feminine tunics and breeches. The shirts were softer, and pants more fitting on her bosom than she would like. She still wore them nonetheless. Arya still wore the clothes she had stolen from her brothers more than the gifts. She decided she’d wear them for the stroll. It was better than a dress. She brushed her long, brown hair and twisted it into a traditional northern braid. She grabbed Needle, sheathing it on her hip. When she deemed herself worthy of being seen by the pompous court, she looked for Sansa in the court. Under the shade of a tree was where she found her. She was prettier than usual, her skin more vibrant. Her hair was in the southern style that Arya didn’t like. She always thought Sansa looked prettier with the braids her mother would do on her. And she was wearing the Lannister and Baratheon colors on her elegant dress. 

“Sansa, you called me?” Arya said as she walked forward. Her sister nearly skipped towards her.

“Sister, I woke up with a marvelous surprise this morning! You’ll never guess what happened,” Sansa exclaimed. They sat on a bench near a bush.

“What happened? Did the prince finally kiss you or something? I’d prefer if you didn’t talk to me about that.”

“No, but that probably won’t be too long from now. I got my first moonblood! Oh, Arya! I can finally get married.” Arya has stiffened at the word “moonblood.” She hadn’t gotten hers yet, thankfully. That was probably one of the reasons why her father hadn’t sent her away yet. But sweet Sansa was betrothed to the murderous prince. She had heard tells of what Joffrey would do to whores. Things that Her sister didn’t know or would never believe. Arya was a victim of Joffrey’s bullying before. Only it wasn’t really bullying, it was harrassment. He’d see her when she was younger and make jokes about how she really wasn’t a girl, but a boy. Once, he even challenged her to a sword fight. She was thirteen, still new at holding a sword. She did beat him, earning a smirk from the Hound. He was an ugly man, but he was funnier and possibly even kinder than the rest of them. She still hated him for killing her friend Mikka. She’d never forgive him for that. 

“Are you sure you want to rush into the marriage. Maybe we could hide this from the people. We could bribe the maids, they won’t tell,” Arya tried to reason. Sansa looked at her as if she were alien. 

“I’ve wanted nothing more than to marry my handsome prince and birth his babies, Arya. I will not hide this. Plus, have you heard the people talk. They say I’m not able to conceive.” 

Her sister’s eyes teared up, and Arya had to use her self-restraint to prevent herself from poking needle through the people of the Red Keep. 

“You’re only sixteen!”

“Most women my age are already giving birth. I’ve already failed at being late enough as it is.”

During their argument, neither had noticed the Queen walking towards their direction. 

“Lady Sansa…” Cercei greeted. 

She looked Arya up and down, taking in her appearance.

“Lady Arya,” She frowned. 

They both curtsied. Sansa’s, graceful as ever, looked more elegant and natural as opposed to Arya’s clumsy one. The thoughts during the bath flooded her mind once again. Perhaps this meeting could do her some good regarding Cercei. She didn’t know what she was searching for, but she hoped that maybe she could find something. 

“Your highness, would you like to take a seat,” one of the maids asked. Arya answered before she could. 

“That would be a great idea! My queen, why don’t we sit down and catch up for a bit.”

Sansa beamed, agreeing that that would be a marvelous idea. Cercei smiled fakely, accepting the invitation. 

“To what do I owe this pleasure? We never do speak, do we, Lady Arya.”

“No, I suppose not. But I thought it might be nice to converse with your royal highness.”

Before she could continue, Sansa spoke excitedly.

“My queen, I have the pleasure to inform you that I have had my first moonblood. Making me eligible to marry your son, Prince Joffrey.”

Arya could see Cercei let go of her exterior, frowning deeper. It was only for a second. 

“Yes, my dear. I heard the maids. Robert was ecstatic. The Starks and the Baratheons finally joining houses, he says.” Sansa looked with pleased with herself.

“And you Lady Arya? Last I heard, you weren’t betrothed to any lordling. And you still haven’t had your moonblood, have you?”

Cercei meant it as an attack, she knew it. But she didn’t care.

“I have not.”

“Fifteen and you’ve still not been betrothed or have bled. Shame to see a pretty face not put to use.”

Arya became rigged. She smiled, adjusting herself on her bottom. 

“My Queen, I fear I am not made for the married life. And I’ve been told by my Septa Mordane that I am too small for children. Lords wouldn’t want me.” 

Cercei rolled her eyes.

“Any woman with a cunt is eligible to birth,” the Queen scoffed. Sansa gasped at her crude remark, hiding behind her hand. 

Arya instead smiled passively. 

“How were your pregnancies? If you don’t mind me asking.” 

Cercei smiled nostalgically at the mention of her babies. 

“Joffrey..” she paused, recollecting her child before the prince. She smiled sadly with glassy eyes.

“Was not the eldest. I had a son before him. Beautiful baby with black hair like his father, I never got to see him open his eyes. He drew three breaths before he died…  
There is nothing worse than losing a child you carried.” 

Arya felt for Cercei. She truly did. Arya didn’t understand motherhood, but loss was loss. That didn’t help that the woman’s brother had endangered her own little brother, who was just a child of nine.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Don’t be. Everybody dies.”

The conversation took a morbid turn and she felt the need to walk away. Perhaps her father needed assistance. 

“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I must go. I think I’m needed elsewhere.” Arya bowed her head and hastily walked away with a foggy mind. What was she expecting to get from the conversation? As she walked away she could hear the chattering from her sister and the Queen about wedding preparations. Sansa sounded more invested than Cercei was. 

Exiting the garden, Arya searched for her father. Even if he didn’t want to tell her what she wanted, she decided that helping him with something could possibly clear her head. The door to her father’s study was half open, she peeked through the crack to see if he was with the King. It was not the king he was talking to, but an ugly old man wearing all black. 

“I found him… They say he’s in Thobo’s shop… I am perfectly capable of going down by myself...” He was whispering, rightfully so. The “birds” that belonged to Varys and Little Finger were everywhere. It drove her mad when she was approached by the lords. They always commented about the private investigations she would perform. She knocked on the door, pretending not to have heard anything.”

“Are you busy? I can come some other time.” Arya feigned disappointment.

“My lady,” the man introduced himself. He bowed but Arya groaned.

“Please, I’m no lady. Call me Arya. And there’s no need for bowing, save it for the King and Queen.”

“I apologize, Arya. I am Yoren. I’m here the men at Castle Black,” Yoren chuckled, amused by her reaction.

Arya’s ears perked at the sound of the nightswatch. 

Jon.

“Do you know my brother Jon?” She asked.

“I have spoken to him before, yes. He’s fine, young lad-Arya. He’s one of our best men.”

Arya softened at the mention of his supposed safeness. 

“My little wolf, was there a reason why you came?” 

“Yes, I was bored with the ladies of the court, so I decided it’d be best to assist you with a task.”

Ned looked at Yoren appreciatively. 

“Yoren came to me today to ask for help with the new men taking the black, taking names and such. Perhaps, if he’d take you, you can help him.”

Yoren looked baffled that he suggested such a thing. 

“That’s an excellent idea,” Arya agreed,” I have nothing else to do.”

Yoren went along, taking Arya with him.

“I have a horse, you can ride behind me.” 

Arya scoffed, walking along the stables. When she finally found her horse, she mounted him. 

“Not necessary, I can ride.”

She trotted past him, smiling contently at his shocked expression. 

“Where are we headed?”

“Along the city. We need to take names as your lord father said.”

“Tell me, Yoren. Should I be weary of the men? Because I will not hesitate to hurt a person with bad intentions towards me.”

Yoren looked ahead, making sure to lead them through a safe trail towards the city’s stables.

“I should hope not. I doubt that these men will want to lose something dear to them.”

“Let’s hope they know better or I’ll personally take what they hold precious away.”

The rest of the short trip was silent.

-

“Next!”

Arya held the quill in her hand tightly. She had been taking names for two hours, already feeling the heat of the city overtaking her. The silk of the tunic made the heat bearable. All the men stared at the girl as if she were a tavern whore. More than once, she had caught them staring down the loose opening of her tunic. She glared at them when she noticed. The sight of her cold, steely eyes made some flinch. 

“You a lady?” The man in front of her asked. 

He was skinny and dirty with what she presumed to be shit. He stunk.

“Name?” Arya repeated.

“I’ve always wanted to fuck a lady,” he said while reaching across. The men on both of her sides unsheathed their swords, but she was faster. Needle was already in her hand and the tip was grazing the perverts chin. 

“I asked for a name. And I am no lady,” Arya grit out. Yoren’s men took him by the arm, escorting the flabbergasted man away from her. She removed herself from the small stool and desk, gathering the attention from the men. She commanded the night men to stay put as she spoke to the others. 

“The next time somebody tries to touch me, I will not refrain from impaling them with my sword. Am I understood?”

The criminals hummed in understanding, most not taking her seriously. She thought it was best to ignore them. She didn’t need to give Yoren a hard time.

“Next! I want a name this time.” 

The man to step up next was almost offensively handsome. He had bright blue eyes and a head of fine black hair. His build was strong, towering over her. His gaze was hard, but soft almost at the sight of the small girl. He looked to be around Robb and Jon’s age. 

“Gendry Waters,” he spoke. 

He sounded almost shy. Arya almost wanted to laugh until she realized he was probably a criminal. Rapers and thieves were the type of people that went to Castle Black.

“Thank you, Gendry,” she politely smiled despite herself. 

His face turned pink. Ha! She made a grown man blush, maybe he wasn’t a raper or thief. She couldn’t see him as one. 

Gendry shuffled towards the group of men she had already recorded. Arya could feel his eyes lingering on her the entirety of the time. She didn’t know how to feel about it. She’d probably never see him again either way, why worry over it. 

When she had finished, Yoren had handed her the reign of her horse. Tiredly, she climbed onto the horse. Arya’s eyes glazed over the men. 

“It was a pleasure to meet some of you. Safe travels,” she waved before riding away with the old man. 

“When do your men leave?” 

“In two days to come.”

“Interesting,” She hummed, distracted by the scene before her. The sun was setting, pinks and oranges surrounding it. It was truly beautiful.


	4. 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said, this is DIFFERENT! Don’t come at me please. I’m incredibly sensitive. Also, if you can’t tell my writing is okay at best, so i apologize in advance for weird dialogue and repetitive phrases.

Three years Later

 

The sound of practice swords against each other echoed in the sunlit room. 

Arya’s arms burned, trying to keep up with the speed of her water dance instructor, Syrio Forel. Nonetheless, she grinned at the collision of their weapons. Her heart was beating fast and sweat collected on her brow. Her breathing was heavy, matching her instructors quick swordsmanship. She had undoubtedly gotten better since she began lessons when she was ten and 2. The young woman practiced as much as she could, becoming as much of a warrior as she could. She wanted to be a knight. She would’ve taken the black to be with her brother Jon and to see beyond the wall, but they didn’t take women. Plus, her father would never let her. He loved her and respected her wishes, but he still believed she’d marry a lord. She had just turned five and ten, meaning marriage was not very far. She’d be lying if she didn’t admit that she contemplated running away. But her father and sister who still had yet to wed the prince, she still hadn’t bled. People began to speculate if she’d be able to bear a child. When Arya heard these rumors, she glared her nostrils at the court people insulting her sister. Sansa was a pain in her arse but she was still her sister. 

A sharp pain bolted through her arm. Syrio had hit her with his sword.

“Ow!”

“Distractions lead to death, Child. What is on your mind?” Syrio sat on the table, barely fazed by their sparring. She wiped the sweat off her forehead, looking for the pitcher of water to quench her thirst.

“Syrio, I’m not a child anymore. My father has been talking about sending me away for marriage… He’s been gone lately. Perhaps to meet eligible bachelors. But… as much as I want to make my family proud for once- the gods know I’ll never look or act like a pretty, proper lady. But I don’t want to get married. I fear…” she didn’t finish instead clutching the pitcher until her knuckles were white. Syrio felt bad for the young woman. Yes, it was true she was no longer a child. She had grown not only mentally, although she did throw fits when forced into gowns or when she was insulted by a lord or lady, but also physically. She was still short, only growing three inches. She had, however, grown into a beautiful young woman. When she had arrived, it was hard to distinguish her from a boy. She constantly had to correct people that it was girl not boy. Now it was apparent with her growing breasts and hips. She wasn’t as curvy as her sister, but she was muscular and toned. Her pants were tighter on her bottom now, something that the mean of the castle noticed, something she hated. When she caught the king looking once, she seethed. Her beauty brought unwanted attention. Her sister often sneered when she caught the prince looking once. And the Queen grew wary. Everybody said she looked more and more like the beauty that was her aunt Lyanna, specifically Robert. When he saw her, his eyes grew lecherous and his face pink with a flush of lust. Arya often excused herself early when she caught the king staring too much. Her father noticed too. When Robert was around, he made sure to stay by her side at all times. 

“In Bravos, women have the freedom to choose how they live their lives, their professions. I wish you had that opportunity, Girl. You weren’t made for this life, but those words you speak-”

“Family, duty, honor. My mother’s words, yes. You know, I wrote to my mother and she hasn’t written back. I miss her, Syrio. I miss my brothers. I miss winterfell. I hope they decide to visit. Mother always says she can’t. That Robb can’t rule by himself, and that there must always be a Stark in Winterfell. And sometimes I dream about leaving.

But I don’t. I don’t want to leave my sister and father in the lions den by themselves. They’d tear them apart. We’re a pack. We stick together.”

Syrio was curious, he knew the atrocities of the court. He wasn’t stupid, he was only foreign. But he knew of the corruption that lurked in the Red Keep. He had seen it. He knew Arya was keen, noticing things most didn’t. There were nights when he’d catch her in the halls, quietly searching for things. And her father let her work with him when she was bored, she was helpful at times.

“What could you possibly have to worry, Child? Your father is a war veteran, he’s-”

“Not as strong as he used to be.”

“But he’s still smart.”

Arya looked thoughtful for a moment.

“He is. But he trusts too easily. It’ll kill him if he’s not careful.”

Syrio grimly stared at her. She was too knowing fo her age. She should still be enjoying her adolescence. He thought it was unfortunate that she had to grow up quickly, she deserved more time before she wed. 

“And you, Girl? You confide in a man who is not your blood or your people. Why is that? I could use these things against you.”

Arya chuckled, amused by the idea of the kind, stern dance instructor that treated her like a daughter turning against her.

“Not possible. You’re my friend,” she said. 

Syrio dismissed her not long after. They said their farewells then retreated to their respective bed chambers. On her way to her chambers, she saw her father. She hadn’t seen him all day, so she decided to wait on her bath. 

“Father!” 

He looked at her and instantly smiled. Arya had been asking to help him with his papers, trying to learn more about the seven kingdoms. He didn’t doubt that when she married, she’d be a good lady, helping the poor and maintaining a good kingdom alongside her husband. She jogged towards him. 

“My little wolf, done with practice already?”

Arya nodded her head, explaining to him how much Syrio had told her she had improved. The only people she spoke to in Kingslanding were her father, Syrio, and Winterfell’s bannermen. The only people she trusted with her life was her father and Syrio. Mostly her father. When she first told him of the Kingslayer, he didn’t want to involve her in political matters no matter how much she pleaded. He sent her and Sansa with the septa to continue to teach them how to be proper ladies. She retaliated by hiding from her needle lessons and spending more time practicing water dancing. Ned, knowing that if he compromised she’d become more cooperative, decided that he’d share and accept her help if she continued to behave appropriately. She became somewhat of a lady in the end. 

“Father… you’ve been busy lately. I don’t get to see you as much. Did you find something out?” She whispered.

Arya had noticed Ned’s far away expression. He didn’t look like he was listening to her. Something told her it had to do with the work she had helped him with before. She had caught him with papers and books with odd titles, he later clarified that he saw something peculiar in Jon Arryn’s death. Arya had been stunned at first. But as she helped her father do more research, she didn’t understand exactly what about Lord Arryn’s death they were looking for, she saw something strange in the book her father said Lord Arryn had read before his death. Namely, the description of Baratheon children. Black hair, blue eyes. It didn’t seem odd unless you thought about it further. Myrcella, Tommen and Joffrey didn’t have the black hair and blue eyes that every Baratheon recorded had. Arya had told her father, not hesitating or doubting the gut feeling in her that said that this was important. Her father too had an off feeling about the discovery. He sent her away afterwards, saying that it could be potentially dangerous. She scoffed but left, wanting alone time too to break apart the situation. She didn’t know what to think, but she knew it could get the Lannister’s in trouble. Needless to say, she was going to convince her father to tell her about what made him weary lately. 

“Arya, I can’t tell you. I don’t think it’s right, darling. I know you don’t like being kept in the dark, you want to help. But you could get into trouble.”  
“Father, I can help you! I’ve done so many times. And I can protect myself, Syrio said I’m probably stronger than half of the knights in this bloody keep!” 

“Arya, I don’t deny your help often. However, this can put your life in danger if somebody bad knows you hold this information. You already know too much, my sweet child.”

Arya didn’t think the information they uncovered was major enough to spark the interest of a knife to the heart. Now she was more interested. Then it dawned her.

“My life in- what about yours! You putting your life at risk is basically putting us in danger too. I can’t let you do this by yourself. Two wolves are better than one.” Arya’s heart was heavy in her chest, unable to beat at the fact her father could possibly be assasinated if heard or seen with the wrong books or scrolls. Jon Arryn died because of something nobody but him knew. What if that was her father’s fate. She wouldn’t allow it. Arya knew that he wouldn’t share what he knew, so she thought that she’d put her acting skills to use. If something good came out of living in Kingslanding, it was learning how to fool someone. Arya knew she wasn’t as good at lying as she’d prefer to be, but she was still okay at it. This was going to be harder than fooling the septa though. This was her father. The only man she’d ever love in her life besides her brothers. It hurt her to have to lie. But she had to know. She could see something that he didn’t. He’d have somebody looking after his back. 

“My pup,” he began as he cupped her cheek and pressed her against his chest,” you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into. You and your sister are too precious for me to leave. You’re lucky I haven’t sent you back to Winterfell like I should’ve when you found out about the Kingslayer and told me. Promise me that you will not investigate. Arya, look at me and promise you won’t.”

“Okay...I won’t. I promise, just be careful.” 

Despite her still being a little sweaty, Ned kissed her forehead as a sign of affection. She almost flinched when she said that she wouldn’t. The guilt weighed in her heavily as she glumly walked towards the direction of her room. And when she felt the warm water of her bath, she began to ponder with a clear head. The maids insisted that they help her, but, like always, she told them that she was fine and capable. Scrubbing her arms, she thought of the role the Lannister’s probably played in the scandal her father possibly found out.

Cercei has a role in this, Arya thought.

They were her children after all. She knew the Queen would do anything for children. Especially the brat prince that would marry her sister.

The only reason she’s marrying that twat is because he’s pretty. He looks like the queen and her killer brother more than his own father. 

Arya sat up in the bath, the water noisily swishing in the tub. The queen had a son before Joffrey, she read about him. A little baby boy that only drew few breaths before he died. He had blue eyes and black hair. 

What if the Queen had an affair. 

Arya knew it was dangerous territory her mind was wondering at. But she couldn’t help but theorize the possibilities. And the Queen having an affair didn’t seem unthinkable. It wasn’t a very preposterous accusation to make in her mind. She didn’t have a good relationship with the king, it was rocky at best. He whored around and drunk more than what should be humanly possible. And she abhorred the man. It seemed every time she saw him, she was seething. Robert’s presence was revolting to her. Arya could easily see why, he dishonored her in more ways than one. She wasn’t as clever in his mind as she was in everybody's eyes. To him, she was a scheming bitch. Robert didn’t enjoy Cersei’s presence either. It felt… right.

“Lady Arya, are you okay?”

Arya looked up at the doors, mouth open and mind racing. She willed her voice steady when she replied.

“Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.”

“Lady Sansa invited you out for a walk along the garden. She says it’s urgent.”

Arya perked up at the sound of Sansa’s name. 

Urgent news?

“Thank you for informing me. You ladies may go, I can dress myself.”

They reluctantly did as she said, used to her dismissive nature. She didn’t like help. 

Arya looked for a clean tunic when she found Sansa’s gift that she had made for her to wear on her name day celebration. She had made her more feminine tunics and breeches. The shirts were softer, and pants more fitting on her bosom than she would like. She still wore them nonetheless. Arya still wore the clothes she had stolen from her brothers more than the gifts. She decided she’d wear them for the stroll. It was better than a dress. She brushed her long, brown hair and twisted it into a traditional northern braid. She grabbed Needle, sheathing it on her hip. When she deemed herself worthy of being seen by the pompous court, she looked for Sansa in the court. Under the shade of a tree was where she found her. She was prettier than usual, her skin more vibrant. Her hair was in the southern style that Arya didn’t like. She always thought Sansa looked prettier with the braids her mother would do on her. And she was wearing the Lannister and Baratheon colors on her elegant dress. 

“Sansa, you called me?” Arya said as she walked forward. Her sister nearly skipped towards her.

“Sister, I woke up with a marvelous surprise this morning! You’ll never guess what happened,” Sansa exclaimed. They sat on a bench near a bush.

“What happened? Did the prince finally kiss you or something? I’d prefer if you didn’t talk to me about that.”

“No, but that probably won’t be too long from now. I got my first moonblood! Oh, Arya! I can finally get married.” Arya has stiffened at the word “moonblood.” She hadn’t gotten hers yet, thankfully. That was probably one of the reasons why her father hadn’t sent her away yet. But sweet Sansa was betrothed to the murderous prince. She had heard tells of what Joffrey would do to whores. Things that Her sister didn’t know or would never believe. Arya was a victim of Joffrey’s bullying before. Only it wasn’t really bullying, it was harrassment. He’d see her when she was younger and make jokes about how she really wasn’t a girl, but a boy. Once, he even challenged her to a sword fight. She was thirteen, still new at holding a sword. She did beat him, earning a smirk from the Hound. He was an ugly man, but he was funnier and possibly even kinder than the rest of them. She still hated him for killing her friend Mikka. She’d never forgive him for that. 

“Are you sure you want to rush into the marriage. Maybe we could hide this from the people. We could bribe the maids, they won’t tell,” Arya tried to reason. Sansa looked at her as if she were alien. 

“I’ve wanted nothing more than to marry my handsome prince and birth his babies, Arya. I will not hide this. Plus, have you heard the people talk. They say I’m not able to conceive.” 

Her sister’s eyes feared up, and Arya had to use her self-restraint to prevent a fight with the people of the Red Keep. 

“You’re only sixteen!”

“Most women my age are already giving birth. I’ve already failed at being late enough as it is.”

During their argument, neither had noticed the Queen walking towards their direction. 

“Lady Sansa…” Cercei greeted. 

She looked Arya up and down, taking in her appearance.

“Lady Arya,” She frowned. 

They both curtsied. Sansa’s, graceful as ever, looked more elegant and natural as opposed to Arya’s clumsy one. The thoughts during the bath flooded her mind once again. Perhaps this meeting could do her some good regarding Cercei. She didn’t know what she was searching for, but she hoped that maybe she could find something. 

“Your highness, would you like to take a seat,” one of the maids asked. Arya answered before she could. 

“That would be a great idea! My queen, why don’t we sit down and catch up for a bit.”

Sansa beamed, agreeing that that would be a marvelous idea. Cercei smiled fakely, accepting the invitation. 

“To what do I owe this pleasure? We never do speak, do we, Lady Arya.”

“No, I suppose not. But I thought it might be nice to converse with your royal highness.”

Before she could continue, Sansa spoke excitedly.

“My queen, I have the pleasure to inform you that I have had my first moonblood. Making me eligible to marry your son, Prince Joffrey.”

Arya could see Cercei let go of her exterior, frowning deeper. It was only for a second. 

“Yes, my dear. I heard the maids. Robert was ecstatic. The Starks and the Baratheons finally joining houses, he says.” Sansa looked with pleased with herself.

“And you Lady Arya? Last I heard, you weren’t betrothed to any lordling. And you still haven’t had your moonblood, have you?”

Cercei meant it as an attack, she knew it. But she didn’t care.

“I have not.”

“Fifteen and you’ve still not been betrothed or have bled. Shame to see a pretty face not put to use.”

Arya became rigged. She smiled, adjusting herself on her bottom. 

“My Queen, I fear I am not made for the married life. And I’ve been told by my Septa Mordane that I am too small for children. Lords wouldn’t want me.” 

Cercei rolled her eyes.

“Any woman with a cunt is eligible to birth,” the Queen scoffed. Sansa gasped at her crude remark, hiding behind her hand. 

Arya instead smiled passively. 

“How were your pregnancies? If you don’t mind me asking.” 

Cercei smiled nostalgically at the mention of her babies. 

“Joffrey..” she paused, recollecting her child before the prince. She smiled sadly with glassy eyes.

“Was not the eldest. I had a son before him. Beautiful baby with black hair like his father, I never got to see him open his eyes. He drew three breaths before he died…  
There is nothing worse than losing a child you carried.” 

Arya felt for Cercei. She truly did. Arya didn’t understand motherhood, but loss was loss. That didn’t help that the woman’s brother had endangered her own little brother, who was just a child of nine.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Don’t be. Everybody dies.”

The conversation took a morbid turn and she felt the need to walk away. Perhaps her father needed assistance. 

“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I must go. I think I’m needed elsewhere.” Arya bowed her head and hastily walked away with a foggy mind. What was she expecting to get from the conversation? As she walked away she could hear the chattering from her sister and the Queen about wedding preparations. Sansa sounded more invested than Cercei was. 

Exiting the garden, Arya searched for her father. Even if he didn’t want to tell her what she wanted, she decided that helping him with something could possibly clear her head. The door to her father’s study was half open, she peeked through the crack to see if he was with the King. It was not the king he was talking to, but an ugly old man wearing all black. 

“I found him… They say he’s in Thobo’s shop… I am perfectly capable of going down by myself...” He was whispering, rightfully so. The “birds” that belonged to Varys and Little Finger were everywhere. It drove her mad when she was approached by the lords. They always commented about the private investigations she would perform. She knocked on the door, pretending not to have heard anything.”

“Are you busy? I can come some other time.” Arya feigned disappointment.

“My lady,” the man introduced himself. He bowed but Arya groaned.

“Please, I’m no lady. Call me Arya. And there’s no need for bowing, save it for the King and Queen.”

“I apologize, Arya. I am Yoren. I’m here the men at Castle Black,” Yoren chuckled, amused by her reaction.

Arya’s ears perked at the sound of the nightswatch. 

Jon.

“Do you know my brother Jon?” She asked.

“I have spoken to him before, yes. He’s fine, young lad-Arya. He’s one of our best men.”

Arya softened at the mention of his supposed safeness. 

“My little wolf, was there a reason why you came?” 

“Yes, I was bored with the ladies of the court, so I decided it’d be best to assist you with a task.”

Ned looked at Yoren appreciatively. 

“Yoren came to me today to ask for help with the new men taking the black, taking names and such. Perhaps, if he’d take you, you can help him.”

Yoren looked baffled that he suggested such a thing. 

“That’s an excellent idea,” Arya agreed,” I have nothing else to do.”

Yoren went along, taking Arya with him.

“I have a horse, you can ride behind me.” 

Arya scoffed, walking along the stables. When she finally found her horse, she mounted him. 

“Not necessary, I can ride.”

She trotted past him, smiling contently at his shocked expression. 

“Where are we headed?”

“Along the city. We need to take names as your lord father said.”

“Tell me, Yoren. Should I be weary of the men? Because I will not hesitate to hurt a person with bad intentions towards me.”

Yoren looked ahead, making sure to lead them through a safe trail towards the city’s stables.

“I should hope not. I doubt that these men will want to lose something dear to them.”

“Let’s hope they know better or I’ll personally take what they hold precious away.”

The rest of the short trip was silent.

-

“Next!”

Arya held the quill in her hand tightly. She had been taking names for two hours, already feeling the heat of the city overtaking her. The silk of the tunic made the heat bearable. All the men stared at the girl as if she were a tavern whore. More than once, she had caught them staring down the loose opening of her tunic. She glared at them when she noticed. The sight of her cold, steely eyes made them some flinch. 

“You a lady?” The man in front of her asked. 

He was skinny and dirty with what she presumed to be shit. He stunk.

“Name?” Arya repeated.

“I’ve always wanted to fuck a lady,” he said while reaching across. The men on both of her sides unsheathed their swords, but she was faster. Needle was already in her hand and the tip was grazing the perverts chin. 

“I asked for a name. And I am no lady,” Arya grit out. Yoren’s men took him by the arm, escorting the flabbergasted man away from her. She removed herself from the small stool and desk, gathering the attention from the men. She commanded the night men to stay put as she spoke to the others. 

“The next time somebody tries to touch me, I will not refrain from impaling them with my sword. Am I understood?”

The criminals hummed in understanding, most not taking her seriously. She thought it was best to ignore them. She didn’t need to give Yoren a hard time.

“Next! I want a name this time.” 

The man to step up next was almost offensively handsome. He had bright blue eyes and a head of fine black hair. His build was strong, towering over her. His gaze was hard, but soft almost at the sight of the small girl. He looked to be around Robb and Jon’s age. 

“Gendry Waters,” he spoke. 

He sounded almost shy. Arya almost wanted to laugh until she realized he was probably a criminal. Rapers and thieves were the type of people that went to Castle Black.

“Thank you, Gendry,” she politely smiled despite herself. 

His face turned pink. Ha! She made a grown man blush, maybe he wasn’t a raper or thief. She couldn’t see him as one. 

Gendry shuffled towards the group of men she had already recorded. Arya could feel his eyes lingering on her the entirety of the time. She didn’t know how to feel about it. She’d probably never see him again either way, why worry over it. 

When she had finished, Yoren had handed her the reign of her horse. Tiredly, she climbed onto the horse. Arya’s eyes glazed over the men. 

“It was a pleasure to meet some of you. Safe travels,” she waved before riding away with the old man. 

“When do your men leave?” 

“In two days to come.”

“Interesting,” She hummed, distracted by the scene before her. The sun was setting, pinks and oranges surrounding it. It was truly beautiful.


	5. 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I’m sorry for being such a bad writer. At least I got mediocre punctuation skills. :)

“Arya, are you listening?” Eddard asked, brows furrowed with slight annoyance. Arya’s eyes glanced at him, then the king then back to him. She nodded, licking her lips anxiously. 

“Yes, you’re going hunting with the King. Can I come along, Father?” 

Ned sighed. She hated the castle, but this was where she was needed, or supposed to be. Anything could happen, wild animals were unpredictable. He wouldn’t have her getting hurt.

“I’m afraid not. It’ll be alright, Darling.” Her father assured her. The king rolled his eyes at Arya’s irritated expression.

“You’re place is here, girl. Spend a day to yourself if you’d like. Gods know you need it. I can tell how anxious you are to be rid of the lords and ladies of this damn keep.”

“Robert-“

“No, Ned. As your king, I command you to enjoy yourself.” He said to Arya. She fidgeted in her spot uncomfortably, thanking him. The Keep was big, yes. But she had already explored most of it as far as she could tell. She could possibly explore Kingslanding. The only times she ever went to the city was when she helped Yoren yesterday, and when they had entered to the Red Keep. Her father took her hand, guiding her aside. 

 

“Arya, promise me while I’m gone, you’ll be careful. I can’t have one of my daughters lost or worse dead.” She laughed. Her father could be so dramatic sometimes. She didn’t deny that these people could lead her towards her demise, but she knew they wouldn’t. It was too much work. To make an enemy of the honorable Ned Stark was making an enemy of the king. Nobody could touch her in the Keep. They wouldn’t dare.

“You worry too much. Hopefully you’ll enjoy yourself, Father. You’ve been working much too hard for the King. This hunt will be good for you I think.” It was true. Her father worked tooth and nail for the king. She hated him sometimes for occupying her father for more time than she would like. Arya missed their walks in the godswoods in Winterfell. She missed when they would talk and hear after he was done with his lord duties. 

“Oh, my little wolf. You need to have a little fun yourself. You think too much for someone your age. You’re supposed to be having fun and acting careless not worrying over the state of the houses and wars over seas. Leave that to me.”

He kissed her forehead, dismissing her. The small smile on her face stayed until she saw her sister and Joffrey. They were holding hands. Arya resisted the urge to gag.   
Joffrey noticed her first, smirking.

“Well, if it isn’t the little wolf bitch.” It was Joffrey’s favorite nickname for her besides “wolf cunt.” She didn’t mind. It made her sound more ferocious. The smirk bothered her. He acted snide, as if he were above her. In rank, she supposed. Still weighing the option that her “infidelity” hypothesis was quite possible. But in terms of character, she was a saint. Sansa smiled bitterly at Joffrey’s nickname. To her darling sister, Joffrey was the handsome prince that could do her no harm and would love her unconditionally. She was stupid if she didn’t see him for what he really was. But she knew her sister wasn’t stupid, she was in denial. Choosing ignorance over facing the sad truth. She was going to marry him after all. It was easier to bare than knowing her betrothed was a raging psychopath. She walked by him, unafraid and determined. He didn’t seem to like that. 

“Your prince was talking to you!” He shrieked. Handsome he may be to the ladies, but he still sounded like the pre-pubescent cunt she had met years ago. With a deadly grace, she turned on her heel to look at him face to face. 

“Prince you may be, but I’m not obligated to answer to you. Your father gave me specific orders to-“

“To what? Meet him in his chamber for a shag?”

Arya’s eyes widened, stunned at the insinuation. Her and that fat king shagging? She thought not. 

“You son of a bi-!“

“Arya!”

She looked at her sister’s pleading face. Family. Family. Family. She repeated the words over and over again. Family, duty, honor. 

“If You weren’t the prince, I’d already have killed you.” 

“Is that a threat,” Joffrey sinisterly grinned. 

“Take it however you want it.”

She walked away, her footsteps echoing alongside his laughter. 

The capital stunk as it did every other day. The sun was still up and the heat was nearly unbearable. The citizens around her were looking at her with mixed emotions. They didn’t know she was Arya Stark of Winterfell. They probably thought she was either a squire or a merchant by the look of her clothing. The whores walked around her in straps of clothing, while she wore trousers and a tunic. They thought her strange for her attire. But she didn’t care, she walked ahead, looking possibly for a pub. She found one eventually. It was an old thing. Despite it looking unsafe and dangerous, she walked into it, hoping for a good brawl and a drink. If there was something Arya had learned in the Redkeep other than how to lie, it was how to handle her alcohol. She disliked the taste of wine. It was too sweet, not strong enough. She decided that blackbeer was her preferred choice. 

“One blackbeer,” she told the man behind the counter. He raised an eyebrow, but got her her drink. As she chugged the bottle dry, she noticed that she was the only other women around here besides the women that belonged to pleasure houses. She felt a light tap on her shoulder. A redhead whore. She was beautiful and vivacious, she almost felt jealous of her voluptuous curves. The woman smiled.

“I don’t see young girls around here very much. I haven’t seen you before in Kingslanding, in fact.” Arya grinned. She knew who this woman was. It was the one from the only whorehouse in Winterfell. She couldn’t recall her name. She pursed her lips and raised a finger to them. The red head understood perfectly. 

They spoke for what felt like hours. They spoke of many things. Like how much Arya missed Winterfell and her brothers, vaguely though. She didn’t think it was normal for whores to talk instead of look for customers. If she remembered correctly, Littlefinger owned a pleasure house. This woman could’ve been sent by him to gather information. But what kind of information? She hadn’t done anything to gather improper attention. 

“I don’t understand you, M’lady,” the red head woman said. Arya cocked her head to the side in a confused manner. 

“What’s not to understand?” 

“It’s just, you have it all. You’re a child of a wealthy lord, you have a beauty to you that rivals that of a winter rose, and yet… Well, you prefer act like a man and play with swords. It’s unbelievable.” Arya couldn’t stop the sigh that rung from her lips.

“You’re not the first to say that, I’ll admit. My father raised me to believe that I would someday marry a lord and birth his babies, but I never really liked that idea. I grew towards the possibility that if I were everything that lords didn’t want, them they wouldn’t accept or offer my hand in marriage. And then I saw my brothers with their swords and bows and arrows. It looked… natural. It captivated me. I remember grabbing a bow once, my brother Brandon had left it and forgot to put it away after training. Shooting one after another, I tried to hit the bulls eye, missing shot after shot. Until I didn’t. When I hit the target, I felt alive. In control. I didn’t need any bodies help or protection. I was willing and capable. Then I heard clapping. I looked up, and there was my father standing from afar, smiling with pride. 

I knew at that moment that I didn’t want to be a lady. I wanted to be Arya Stark, the wolf.” She wasn’t sure why she was sharing this information with a possible spy, but she liked it. She liked having someone to talk to despite their misunderstanding of her. 

It was the setting sun and lightly drunken state that made her return to the horrid Keep. And when she got there, it was chaos. Lords and Ladies squawking and pacing. Her father called out for her, one of the old maids had informed her. Apparently, the king had been in an accident, a deathly one. She ran towards her father, concerned more with his safety. Her father and the queen next to her brother furiously talking came into view. They looked to be arguing passionately. The fury of her Father took her by surprise, he would never act the way he was in front of the queen. But judging by the non-existence presence, it most likely revolved around him. Guards took her father by his arms, he didn’t fight, but he glared at the Lannister with a menacing intent. Arya ran faster with worry. She slid Needle out of the holster, preparing for a fight. It was the arms of several guards that held her down that prevented her from reaching him. Needle was taken from her by one of the men.

“What are you doing to my father?” She asked as she struggled against their hold.

Green eyes glared though her, viciously attacking her with a stare that could murder. The queen circled her like prey. “Stark child, your father has committed a great crime.”

A low growl escaped. 

“My father would never betray the crown. He and the king were like brothers! He’s the king’s hand!”

“He will be sentenced. He killed his king! And you threatened my child. I could have you sentenced here right now.”

The queen’s threat didn’t surprise Arya. The king’s demise did.

“What will you do with my sister?”

“It is none of your concern, but perhaps hold her for time being. She is utterly devoted to my son, Joffrey. Well, King Joffrey now. She could be of some use.”

“This… this is your doing, isn’t it. I don’t know how, but you’re to blame! You Lannister bitch!”

Cercei struck her hard.

“Watch how you speak to your queen!” Her brother warned.

“Such vile words from a pretty mouth. Speak to me like that, I’ll have your tongue cut out.”

“You don’t deny it! You’re to blame!”

“How dare you accuse me of killing my husband, the father of my children. He was killed in an incident caused by your father. My children could be next.”

Incident? And, only, they probably aren’t his children, she thought. She knew better than to say that though.

“Your children… This has to do with your children, doesn’t it? Your love for your children is alarming, you’d kill to keep them safe. I don’t doubt that this has something to do with that.”

Cercei’s eyes locked with hers. Her expression was blank, unreadable. It was Arya’s inability to read her face that made her panic internally. 

“My love for my children is not “alarming.” You see, child, when a woman gives birth to their children, it’s an instant bond. A bond stronger than an army of fierce warriors. Or the scales of dragons. And nothing can dispel that attachment between a mother and her blood.”

She stroked Arya’s swollen cheek, almost… motherly. But the brief vulnerability shown was quickly discarded. 

“But you wouldn’t know. Not until you have children of your own.”

Cercei waved her away.

When the queen and her kingslayer brother were out of view, with some guards gone and only one to attend to her, she headbutted the man, waiting only for him to grunt and let go to clutch his nose, and ran. Dodging the guards that saw her flee, she sped towards her father’s direction, trying to reach him. She successfully found him. With a sweep of her feet under theirs, she managed to tumble them. They’re heavy armor clanked and clattered in the floor. Before they could get back up and fight her, she fled with her father. “What’s happening?” The sounds of her father’s curses made her panic even more as they tried to find a way through the mazes of hallways and doors. Her sister, they needed to find Sansa. 

“The king is dead! He was killed by a boar. But they are accusing me of conspiracy against the crown!” She barked at the lady in their way. 

“This has to do with what we found out, doesn’t it? I told you to let me help! We could’ve been more careful together. What did you uncover?” 

“We’ll talk about this afterwords. This is not the time. We have to find your sister. Arya could hear the clattering of chainmail against metal armor. It was coming from all directions. They cursed in unison. They had been cornered. The daughter and father backed away from the royal guards, knowing they couldn’t escape. Was this the end of her time? Her father’s and Sansa’s? It couldn’t be. But when the Hound seized her carelessly, dragging her screaming and kicking body around, she couldn’t help but feel it was. The helplessness of the situation was unbearable. The crushing weight of grief consumed her. She should’ve fought until her last breath. Who knew what those monsters would do to her family. Her cell was dirty and surrounded by other cells of criminals to the court. The men screamed at her words she preferred to ignore, phrases she wouldn’t hesitate to kill them for. 

“What are you going to do to my father, you bastards!” Arya banged her hands repetitively at the Hound.

“Frankly, little wolf, I don’t give a shite. He’s an honorable man, but honorable men don’t do well in here.” He walked away, ignoring her profanities. Her cries of rage eventually turned to sobs. She wept silently in the corner of her cage. The gryminess of the cell made her rech. It smelt more like piss and shit. Despite the quality of the cell, her primary focus was not on her current condition, but on her father and sister. Hours later, Syrio and Lord Varys had come to meet her.  
It was silent, most of the men in their cells were asleep. 

“Syrio!” 

The familiarity of a trusted man relieved her slightly. 

Varys brought up a finger in a motion of silence. 

“Child, we are here to help you escape. Syrio will get you out before they take your life.”

“But my father! My sister! I won’t leave them here-“

“Lady Arya, if you stay, they’ll kill you. Your father and sister are safer. You’re of no use to them, the queen doesn’t need you.” It took Syrio carrying her thrashing form out for her to leave. She banged against his back furiously. It seemed all she was good for was arguing and hitting people on their backs or chest as they carried her away like a maiden needing rescue or in captivity. It made her angrier. She abhorred being useless. What good was she if she couldn’t play her part?

They were almost out of the gates when they were approached by one of the queen’s trusted men. Ser Meryn Trant. The sound of him unsheathing his his sword made Syrio put Arya down. Tears cascaded down her cheeks, “I don’t want to leave you either. Don’t make me leave! I can help you.”

“Arya, I’ve known you for three years, and you have matured since the day I’ve met you. You were like a daughter that I never had, and you need to stay alive. If they weren’t thinking of killing you before, they will most definitely do it now. Syrio will take care of this Knight while you escape. Hurry, before more guards come and take you! And here!” He tossed Arya her precious Needle. Arya sniffed, wrapping her arms around his neck thankfully. She turned on her heel, then heard him speak one last time to her. 

“What do we say to the god of death?”

Arya wiped away her tears, determined to get away alive. 

“Not today.”

She didn’t stop when she heard the clashing of two swords dancing. Not even when she heard the faint sound of gasp, gurgle and body collapse on the floor. She knew it was her sword master, her friend. She didn’t stop until she was hidden in one of the furthest stables from the Keep in the capital. Arya didn’t close her eyes to sleep, she didn’t feel tired. Only… guilty. She wallowed in self-pity. The possibility of her father already being executed made her mind numb. And even though she hoped that they would all make it out alive, she knew the reality of the situation. A horse in the stable next to her began to neigh. The sun was rising she supposed. Then she heard clattering. Mistaking it for the noise of the queen’s soldiers, she raised Needle high, ready to strike what came into view. And when she saw the shape of a body in front of her, she lunged and poked it with the sharp end of her skinny sword. It was the same moment that she doomed the stranger’s life that she found that he wasn’t a soldier. He was a stable boy. He lay on the ground, bleeding from the stomach where she stabbed him. Needle fell from her hands and the sound of it meeting the ground made the horses noisy from surprise. 

The boy stared at her with his brown eyes. They were wide, all life he had in them was slowly exiting as he profusely bled through his wound. If the reality of the situation wasn’t clear to her before, it was full of sheer clarity now. She cried. Arya apologized to the boy she killed, gasping for forgiveness. He looked around her age. He was still young. So young. She dragged her body out of the stables, guilt hanging over her like a melancholy cloud. The capital was filled with people, and she looked a part of them. Lifeless looking and grimy with dirt and crap on her tattered clothes. Needle was nestled close at her side, the memory of a crime that she commited forever in her memory. It was the first time she had killed. When she was younger, training in Winterfell with her brothers, she always jested about killing, talking lightly of it. Never before had she realized the toll that came with taking a life. Especially an innocent life. 

Peasant people chattering about an execution distracted her from her morbid thoughts. Could it be her father they were talking about? They had to give him a trial first, surely he still had time. She still had time to break him out. Arya followed the directions that one of the gossipers had told her when she asked the location of the execution. It was crowded, nobody was there yet. Only a stone where the neck of the accused would lay on as they behead them. Arya anxiously fiddled with the end of her braid. Her head was hung low to avoid any familiar eyes. Not that anybody would confuse her for a lords daughter. She was too dirty to be noticed. When Llyn Payne, Joffrey and his mother, and Sansa took their respective seats safely in their section of the ordeal, she trembled. Lord Eddard Stark was being escorted to the stone by the Hound. The ugly man roughly shoved her father onto his knees. Had it not been for a stranger’s hand muffling her cries of shouting, she wouldn’t have been able to restrain herself. She struggled against the man, but as he whispered in her ear” Don’t look”, she went slack in his hold. Yoren was trying to keep her safe. Despite his instructions she looked ahead, knowing the fate of her father. The same father that encouraged her unlady like behavior. The one that held her when she cried. The one she stayed up late in the night with to help so that he didn’t stay up later from the pile of work he had. The only man besides her brothers that would love her unselfishly. 

As Llyn Payne’s sword rose high, meeting the glare of the sun to blind her, and fell on the curve of her father’s neck, she felt pain. Not even the cheers of the horrible commoners around her were as loud as her shriek of pain. Then nothing. She was numb. She was numb when the head of the man who had cared for her had rolled on the floor. She was still numb when Yoren guided her towards a secluded area where he cut off her hair unevenly. 

“-do you hear me, boy?”

“W-wha- I’m not a boy,” she croaked. It was a weak correction, one she didn’t sound committed to. 

“Boy, you best not talk back to your fellow brother of the Nightswatch. I’ll make ‘ya life a livin’ hell when we get to Castle Black and the trip there,” Yoren chastised. Arya nodded, understanding what he meant. 

“Yes, Sir,” she replied in a monotone voice.


	6. 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last two episodes of the final season never happened. Who’s she? Don’t know her, sorry.

“You’re a small boy aren’t ‘ya?” 

Arya looked up from she sat, Needle laying in her lap. 

“What’s it to you, Green Hands.”

Lommy scowled, held back by only a fat kid called Hotpie. She stood up, dusting her breeches of dirt. Since she had began traveling with the men of the Nightswatch, they had picked at her. Constantly commenting on her small stature. It had only been one day. She was too fatigued emotionally to bother fighting back with the men. But after just a day’s worth of traveling, she was annoyed. Her first night with them was full of paranoia. What if they found out she wasn’t a boy, but a girl. She thought she looked the part with her chopped hair and bonded breasts. The dirt on her face made it harder to distinguish her from a boy. But she was called a pretty boy throughout the crowd for her “soft” facial features and “delicate” looking body. She was a target for big bullies. Bullies like Lommy “Greenhands” and Hotpie. 

“Nice sword ‘ya got there. Bet ‘ya stole it, didn’ ‘ya,” Lommy provoked. The idea of Arya stealing her Needle, a gift from her favorite brother, made her mad. How dare he accuse her of theft. 

“I didn’t! Go mind your own damn business,” Arya shoved him with her shoulder, passing by him. It was Hotpie that spoke for the seething man. 

“Watch your mouth, pretty boy! Else we kill ‘ya!”

Arya spun on her heel, ready to fight him. She didn’t care if she was punished by Yoren, this fat clown and long, bony crook were agitating her. 

“I killed a fat boy before, I liked it. Perhaps I’ll kill another,” Arya hissed. She felt guilty for using the innocent boy she murdered, but she was feeling too irrational to think straight. It didn’t take long for her to realize that she was going against two larger men. Though Hotpie was slow, and Lommy too stupid to genuinely know how to fight. Preparing her body for a fight, she rearranged her feet into the stance her dead sword master had taught her. But instead of striking with a deadly grace, she was caught by surprise. 

“Like picking on people smaller than you, do you. I used to be a blacksmith’s apprentice, when I hit the metal with my hammer, it sang. Will you sing when I hit you?” The man loomed behind her, his face out of view from her but seen by the men picking on her. She didn’t need to see his face for her to understand that she should’ve been intimidated by him. His large shadow towered over hers. His stature wasn’t of interest to her, though. It was his voice. It sounded familiar. She looked at the man behind her and was shocked by the sight of him. It was the shy, handsome man that she remembered was named Gendry. Instead of thanking him, she scoffed. 

“I didn’t need your help; I could’ve handled it. I was going to handle it.”

He smirked at her angry behavior. Such a small person with such a large attitude.

“I know you did. But they can’t. You are small, but I’ve noticed how quiet and stealthy you are.”

Arya’s mouth went slightly agape. He hadn’t thought her weak because of her smallness. That was most definitely a first. 

“Been watching me, have you?”

He walked around her, almost mockingly. 

“You steal? Rape?,” he laughed as if the idea was impossible,” Or were you sold, like me. I would ask if you volunteered, but you don’t act as if you enjoy this.” 

Arya laughed sourly.

“None of the above. I don’t need to answer to you.”

“I’m bigger than you. You aren’t intimidated by me? I seem to have that effect on people.” 

“You don’t scare me. Those criminals in the cart don’t scare me. None of you scare me,” she gestured to the loitering crowd getting ready for nightfall. “Are you done interrogating me?”

Gendry smiled, clearly amused by her. It made her slightly uncomfortable how patronizing he was towards her. It was even more annoying than Lommy and Hotpie picking on her. But he was slightly tolerable. And she didn’t find a lot people tolerable. He was still quite insufferable. 

She opened her mouth to snidely ask him again, but one of the Night men called them in for food. 

Arya swept past him. He had to jog to keep up with her.

“You’ve got tiny legs, how do you walk so fast?”

“You’ve got large legs, how do you walk so slow?” She mocked. He was like a bull, he was stubborn. She took back what she said, she couldn’t stand him. She greeted Yoren, ignoring the large, brooding man beside her. He was hard to miss, he was big and made noise with his heavy feet on the leaves on the floor. She grabbed her bowl of watered stew from a brother. There was wasn’t much meat when you were constantly traveling and moving place to place to a certain destination. She, of course, wasn’t going to where the others were. She was going to sneak past to Winterfell when they were close to Castle Black. Her mouth was set in a thin line from thinking about the possible scenarios of not making it past. Yoren would be true to his word, getting her safely back home with her head attached. He wouldn’t betray her father like that. It was the other brothers that she worried about. What if they found out about her? She was only lucky that she hadn’t gotten her moonblood or her situation would be worse. How do you hide that? And how would she bathe without anybody seeing her. It only reminded her of how much she hated her body developing. If she thought her breasts hurt before, she was in much more pain. The binds were tighter too hide any shape. Though, two little lumps could be seen in you looked hard enough. Arya reasoned that these men were stupid, they wouldn’t find out. She quickly finished her food to pee. She went past the cart of criminals that saw her and demanded water. 

“Ay! Lil’ boy, give us some water! We’re thirsty!” 

Arya ignored him, passing by without looking back. It wasn’t until she heard another stranger said that she stopped and payed attention.

“Sweet girl, a man needs water to survive. Would a girl give him something to drink?” 

She whipped her had to him, astonished by his odd appearance. His hair was half white and half red, his face was slim yet slightly chisseled. 

“I’m not a girl!”

“You’re not? You’re very pretty for a boy.”

“I’m not!”

He nodded, 

“Girl or boy, I’ll fuck him bloody with his small sword if he doesn’t give me a damn drink of water!”

“I’m not scared of you, you bloody oaf!”

“Don’t talk to them! Are you crazy?”

“I told you they don’t scare me!”

“Well, they should. They scare me.”

Arya felt Gendry’s hand on her arm taking her away from the growling large ugly man that threatened her. She struggled against his grip, prying his hand off her bicep. 

“Stop struggling. Do you think you’ll actually be able to loosen my grip on you with those soft small hands,” his eyebrows furrowed. She used her other hand to slap him. He gripped onto her wrist, grunting. He was too strong for her, so she decided to play dirty. Arya opened her mouth wide and bit the hand on her wrist. He took a sharp intake of breath, howling aloud in pain. 

“Did you actually bite me?”

“Yes! Don’t touch me you stupid giant!”

Gendry was about to argue back when Yoren came from behind them. 

“Arry! Gendry! What’s the meaning of this?”

They both froze, knowing that they couldn’t convince him that they weren’t in fact fighting moments before. They stayed quiet, looking at their feet. This grown man was fighting with a smaller “boy.” She mused at the thought, chuckling quietly. She had bit him. She can’t imagine how it must’ve looked from afar. Apparently Gendry thought so too because she swore she heard a faint chuckle in his part. Yoren swore. 

“Now What’s so damn funny?”

The pair looked at him, gulping at his authorative tone. She didn’t fear Yoren, she feared punishment. She was tired from walking, her boots soles were wearing thin and her feet had painful blisters. The last time a fight broke out, Yoren made sure that the men carried the supplies all day the next day. 

“Nothing, Ser. We apologize. We had a light quarrel, Ser,” Gendry answered. Arya nodded, not wanting to gather more attention from the strangers around her. Well, if she didn’t want much attention, she supposed she shouldn’t have been fighting with the convicts and brawling with Gendry. Hotpie and Lommy sat on tree trunks, cackling mischievously to each other. 

“It best be the last time, young man. You’re bigger than him and you’re brothers now, you hear?”

“Yes, Ser,” they answered in unison. 

Arya glared at Gendry before stomping away, he did the same, flaring his nostrils like a bull. She last saw him by a stream, polishing a helmet in the shape of a bull. It was beautifully smithed, it’s horns smooth and sharp at the edges. It wasn’t polished, she could tell, but it was shiny. The suns rays bounced off of it. Fitting, she thought. 

The floor she sat on to sleep was rocky. When she laid on her back, it was hard to not get scratched when she moved. She tossed and turned, still the ground didn’t seem to get any softer. Yesternight, she lay on a pile of hay, still unable to sleep with the image of her headless father still on her mind. She should’ve taken advantage of the comfortable sleeping position she had been in. Still, as she lay on the asymmetrical ground, a wave of slumber hit her. She fell into a much wanted heavy sleep. She hadn’t after all gotten any in two days. Arya seldomly dreamt. When she was little, her final dream was of her running through the snow barefoot with a wolf by her side and her family riding behind her, chasing her. The only ones absent were Jon, Sansa, and Bran. But she remembered hearing Bran’s voice. It was a whisper, quiet enough for her not to hear. 

Tonight, she dreamt. It was short but it was every enough for her to shed tears. Her father’s head rolled into a puddle of blood that was connected to her brother Robb, laying with several stab wounds in his abdomen. Her brother was holding a woman’s hand. She looked like she had once been beautiful and lively, but now she was pale and bleeding with the bump of a baby coated in dry blood. She didn’t know how she managed to move, if it were real life she’d be frozen in horror. But she did. And to her horror she saw her mother laying flat on her belly with an arrow protruding from her back. Like her father, Catelyn Stark’s eyes were open. They were a light blue, paler than the sky in the Keep when there were no clouds around. She shrieked when she saw the woman who had birthed her dead. Then she saw her beautiful baby brother Rickon. He was sitting down, analyzing her. Arya ran to him, a mess of salty tears. She ran and ran but didn’t seem to get anywhere. It was like she was running in place. 

“Arya, help me. Help me, Arya. Help! Help! Help!” He began to shriek. He was shit by an arrow during his excessive cries of help. Arya stood in place, collapsing onto her brother’s dead body. She made it, but it was too late. She didn’t save him. She ran a hand through his red curls, hugging his body close to hers, trying to somehow keep it warm. She was shook awake. In front of her was Gendry. She gasped, blinking back unshed tears. Arya’s arms were full of goose flesh ad she looked paler than the moon at the moment. When her hand reached up, expecting to tug on the tail of her long braid she didn’t feel anything. Oh, right, her hair was gone. She opted instead to push back the bangs matted on her forehead with sweat. She nervously checked for Needle, finding comfort in the cold, metal tilt of it. 

“You were moaning and mumbling in your sleep. All the men were beginning to wake up. Who’s Rickon?”

She looked down at Needle, troubled by her dream. Where had Sansa, Jon and Bran been? Arya felt a hand in her shoulder. She looked up to see Yoren with a frown. His eyes said a quiet “sorry” to her. He obviously felt guilty. For what, she didn’t know. It was her fault. She should’ve fought harder, longer. She was a disappointment. Syrio had also died, if only she wasn’t useless. 

“I’m…” sorry is what she wanted to say to the dead. To her father’s bannermen. To her mother. To her brothers. To her sister. 

“It was only a bad dream,” she dismissed. Yoren walked away, but Gendry gruffly lay on his back next to her, turning on his side to sleep comfortably. Next to him was his Bull helm.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to sleep. If you have another bad dream and the men wake up again, you’re going to need me to face their wrath. Trust me.”

Arya didn’t fight, she was too tired. The heat radiating from his body helped her fall asleep. She didn’t have anymore bad dreams that night or the week after. Not with Gendry next to her every night sleeping peacefully.


	7. 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment if you have any suggestions for chapters. My next one’s probably going to include the goldcloaks and Yoren dying. Oof. Reminder that I’m not a good writer. Anyways, hope ya enjoy.

The days felt shorter yet long at the same time. Her feet still grew tired, but she had gotten used to the feel of it, numbing the pain. Arya had grown accustomed to the testosterone filled environment. There’s always a drunken brawl now that everyone’s familiar with each other, knowing who to mess with and who not to mess with. She kept her head down still. The only other person she had talked to was Gendry. Despite his quick, brooding anger and her common need to provoke anybody, she got a along fairly well. At first, it was just teasing, but now it felt different. Since the last moon turn that she met him, he’s shown her kindness. Small deeds like sleeping next to her when she was near bigger men that could easily pummel her. Of course, she always had it covered. These men, although alluting the illusion of muscle, were slow and dim witted. They still had yet to find out she was a girl. She took special care of her bindings, making them last as long as possible. And she defecated as far away as possible. Gendry would sometimes press his back on hers when she had a bad dream. It was an act of comfort. She had also made friends with Hotpie and Lommy. Though stupid, they were amusing. The three boys were a small temporary pack for her.

“Arry, hurry up and get your ass moving, won’t you,” Gendry ushered her. He helped her from the ground roughly. Her face collided with his chest then knocked her back. After gaining her balance, she punched his large bicep with her small fist. 

Hotpie came from behind, laughing at the scene. Lommy made a snarky comment she didn’t pay attention to. The group began to bicker about nothing like they did every other day. It didn’t stop until she felt a tight feeling on her stomach. It came suddenly, making her flinch and clutch her stomach. As soon as it came, it went. Gendry gripped her shoulder as if he silently asking her if she was okay. 

“ ‘M fine. A small pain was all it was.” 

The more they walked, the more her back ached too. And the pains in her stomach only worsened. They had stopped by a river when Hotpie had commented on her fatigued body. 

“You’re always up and about, but today it seems like every step you take is agony,” he said oddly. He told Lommy to bring them all fresh water, and after a groan he did so. 

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. My back hurts and my stomach feels emptier,” she confessed. She reached a hand on her stomach. When Lommy brought a skin with cold water in it. She moaned aloud, grateful for something to quench her thirst. She got up, snatching the skin from his hands, letting the liquid run down her throat satisfyingly. They looked at her as she were a puzzle they couldn’t solve. 

“Aye, Arry. You cut yourself?” Lommy asked. 

Arya looked at him quizzingly. She didn’t recall cutting herself anywhere. 

“Oh, yeah. You got some blood on your pants,” Hotpie joined in. She stared at the fat boy with wide eyes. She had a suspicion that what they were talking about wasn’t what they thought it was. Arya prayed to the gods that it wasn’t what she thought it was. Her heart fell into her stomach. Slowly looking down, she found that it was indeed what she suspected. Her moonblood had finally come at the ripe age of fifteen. 

“It’s nothing. I think I accidentally spilled wine on myself earlier. I didn’t notice it-“

“That doesn’t look like wine,” Lommy interjected.

“Leave ‘im alone. He said he spilled wine, he spilled wine, you dimwit,” Gendry defended her. She thoughtfully glanced at him. She knew she could trust him, even though they were only travel companions, she felt in her gut that he was going to have her back for a while. He wasn’t a drunkard like the others or talked lecherously about women they had prior experience with. He was quiet if anything. He brooded in his corner until she spoke to him. Although Gendry hardly refused her company and idle chit chat, he sometimes felt it was necessary that he kept to himself. She understood, but sometimes she couldn’t prevent herself from taking it personally. 

“I think I’ll go by the river. Wash up a little. Don’t want any sort of stain on my only trousers.” Quickly making her way through the thick trees and bushes, she cursed at all seven gods for their bad timing. Arya pushed her breeches to her ankles examining her underclothes. They were soaked through, uncomfortably stiffening where some of the blood was drying up. She picked them up, her eyes wide and attentive to the sounds around her. Her head whipped in every direction, paranoid somebody had seen her. She sat down on the protruding root of the tree her back was previously laying on. Arya desperately contemplated whether or not Yoren could help her with her bloody situation. She didn’t know the first thing about it except that it helped in the cycle of creating babes. Whenever Sansa or the septa spoke, Arya did her best to ignore it. Unfortunately, she ignored it too well. Now she didn’t have the proper education about it to understand how to hide it and such. She was truly an idiot. 

“Arry? Are you okay? I came to check on you,” The ever considerate Gendry Waters shouted through the lumbering trees. He grew closer and closer to the river side where she sat near. With a sharp intake of breath, she weakly replied. 

“I’m okay, you lumbering giant. Stay put. And keep quiet.”

“Is this that girl thing-lunar blood is it called?”

Arya stiffened. He knew. The bastard knew. What if he wanted to get her alone to have his way with her. Her decisions had been poor lately, but this one took the cake. 

“I’m not a girl!”

“Shut up! The others will find out too, Arry. Is that even your real name?”

“I’m not a girl. I swear-“

“Ah shut up. If you were a boy, you’d take your cock out and piss in front of me.” 

Arya shivered, feeling vulnerable. She raised her hand on Needle for comfort. A part of her said to trust him, he’d be her biggest ally. The other said to impale him with the sharp end of her miniature sword. Not considering the consequences her actions may lead her, she acted impulsively. She stood up and marched towards him with a determined look on her face. The more allies she’d make, the safer she would be here. Even if it was just one ally. 

“I am a girl.”

Gendry stood still, struck with surprise. It was short. Like he said before, he had his suspicions. 

“So what’s your real name? And why are you here in the Nightswatch-where only men are allowed to join?” 

Arya needed to trust. She breathed in and out. Trust. Trust Gendry. 

“My name is Arya Stark, of house Stark. I needed to flee the capital and with the help of Yoren, I’m going to return to my brothers and mother in Winterfell.” 

That was something Gendry wasn’t expecting. To be traveling with a girl was one thing, but to be traveling with a noble girl-from a notable house nevertheless! That was a whole different story. He felt rude standing in front of her dumbstruck. 

“You’re a lady? I-oh gods-all that stuff about cocks. Oh, forgive me, m’lady!” He took a knee, bowing his head. It was mortifying to her. Plus, what if somebody saw? This stupid man was going to get her caught. 

“You stupid bull, I never was a lady! And I’m most definitely not a lady.”

“But you’re from a noble house. Your father was a war veteran. And a traitor too if I heard correctly.”

“My father was never a traitor! He had uncovered taboo secrets. He never conspired against the throne. He was a man of honor, loyal to his king.” Arya furiously poked at his chest with every word. He stared passively at her. 

“Oh-you were that girl! I knew you sounded and looked familiar. The one that nearly killed the man in the cage for harassing you. You look different with shorter hair and dirt everywhere. You stink too now.” 

“I would hope so. I can’t be discovered. Only it’s going to be harder because of my wretched blood cycle. Promise me you’ll help me keep my being a girl a secret.”

Once again he bowed. 

“I will do my best, M’lady.”

Arya shoved him to the ground in a fit of annoyance. He lay on the ground, laughing at her agitated expression. 

“What kind of lady are you? Pushing people bigger than you around. You really shouldn’t pick fights with people that are larger than you, ‘ya know.” 

Arya scoffed, a hand on her hip. 

“Then I wouldn’t be able to fight anyone. And as for the kind of lady I am, I am not lady! Stop being such a twat and help me come up with a solution to this.”

So they did. She sat cross legged in front of him as he stay laying on his back, gazing at the blue sky. With the help of Yoren, they found the proper necessity to prevent her from bleeding through her clothes. The rest of her week was increasingly uncomfortable. She was both patronized by Yoren and Gendry. It could possibly give away more of her identity. And it was tiring being asked over and over if she was okay. Yoren didn’t have a problem before, he was just worried about her cycle. Gendry, however, felt the need to treat her as if she were a dainty winter rose. And even then, a rose had its thorns. 

“Stop bloody asking if I’m okay! I finished two days ago, you bull,” she snapped. He gruffly stood up, glaring at her. 

“I’m only asking cause you always complain. Oh, my back this-oh, my stomach that,” he said, impersonating her with a high, squeaky voice. She glowered, standing up as well in an attempt to level with him. 

“I do not! You’re always on my arse. Oh, M’lady are you ok? M'lady, do need…” Now that she thought about it, he was being awfully nice to her. But her pride was too big to admit she was overreacting or being too rude. Her mother would chastise her for her behavior towards her travel companion. She pushed that into the back of her mind. Her mother wasn’t here. 

“I-You’re smothering me. I’m not a damsel in constant distress. I can handle myself like you can!”

As Gendry turned around on the soles of his shoes, Arya didn’t try to stop him. She let him go. He was always angry. And if he wasn’t angry, he was teasing her. But it was lessening. The familiarity between them was diminishing all because of her stupid title as a lady. No, as a princess now. She heard rumors lately. Rumors that the wolf-Man, Robb, was the king in the north. Still, she almost… regretted telling him her title. She missed his horrible attempts of humor and throwing insults at each other lightheartedly. She had made not only an ally, but a friend in the south. A feat she didn’t think possible. But in the extremities of the time, anything was possible. And though his actions were belittling her, the attention wasn’t entirely unwelcome. When they spoke, it felt natural and unforced. Now, it felt like he was only taking her surname in account rather than her as a person. With a sigh, she swallowed her pride. He was only trying to help, she scolded herself. You should be grateful for his help and concern, he could’ve been a rapist. It could’ve been worse, she admitted. Still, she could’ve handled herself. It was the suspicion that would come with the possible death that she would’ve worried about. 

“You ‘n Gendry fight again? This the third time today in’ it, Lommy,” Hotpie asked the weasel like boy next to him. 

“I reckon it is, Hotpie,” he answered,” Another quarrel between the bull and pretty boy. What’s got you both in such bad tension?”

Arya kicked a rock under her foot, shrugging.

“There’s nothing the matter. He’s just being dramatic again, likes to make a scene. As if his size didn’t attract attention, his attitude sure does.”

Hotpie knew that Arry wasn’t telling him the truth. Gendry and Arry were peas in an angry pod. They kept to each other like brothers. Except it wasn’t quite like that. Arry would often stare at Gendry when he wasn’t paying attention. He thought he was stupid, but Hotpie noticed more than he let on. More than he would let the petite boy know. He still was kind of stupid, the fat baker boy knew. He just wasn’t that dense. Arry walked towards Gendry’s direction. At the end of the day, as much as they fought, they always made up. 

“I’m going to go get some ale or mead or whatever the hell they have. I just need something to make me feel better,” Arya cleared her throat. With her hands in the sewn pockets of her breeches, she made her way to a busier part of the small camp. She felt eyes on her. They felt heavy on her shoulders and it made the hairs on her neck stand up. She turned around quickly to figure out the source of her discomfort. A single white streak amongst red hair. It was one of the criminals in the cart. The one she had talked to before. He wasn’t as hostile as the others, but he spoke funnily and his accent was foreign. 

“Girl…”

“I’m a boy,” Arya spat. 

“Yes… boy... a man apologizes for the offense a man’s companions has caused. If you give a man water, he will owe you something in return.” 

Arya cocked her head to the side, curious.

“What favor?”

“Protection. Something not even the bull boy can give you.” 

Arya snorted. 

“He’s bigger than you. And I don’t need protecting- I can do it myself. Protection for a sip of water?”

“Before I get into the specifics, allow a man to introduce himself. A man is Jaquan.”

“Sounds… different.”

“Ye-“

“Arry! Yoren told us that we’re not allowed to talk to them. They’re dangerous,” Gendry pulled her by the crook of her elbow. He stepped in front of her, shielding her from Jaquan’s view. She reached up and smacked his head. 

“You dumb bull! I wasn’t in danger. I was fine. This is what I was talking about,” she whispered furiously as she tugged on his ear for attention. 

“You weren’t talking about anything! You were screaming at me! Like you always do,” he shot back, craning his neck to meet her eyes. 

“I… I apologize… But you’re behavior is condescending. I can take care of myself. Who’s the one that’s armed with a sword?” Arya pointed out. 

Gendry groaned, running a hand through his black, shaggy locks. Then he stopped. 

“You apologized. You actually swallowed your pride and apologized to me. Wait ‘til Hotpie and Greenhands hear about this.”

Arya swatted his arm. 

“Like I care. They probably won’t even believe you.” 

They walked away, shoulder to shoulder. She looked back once at the mysterious man that smiled at her as she put one foot in front of the other. 

“Where are the boys? Sniffing around for food, I bet. I’m starving. They announce if supper’s done yet?”

“Nah-don’t think they have. Listen, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I smother you. You don’t need me around all the time, you can fight for yourself. But you’re my friend. I want to help you too.” 

Arya smiled at him. A friend. Been a while since she had one of those. But she supposed that she knew they were somewhat friends before. 

“It’s fine. Just don’t do it again,” she warned. 

“Aye-Arry! Gendry! Look at what I made! Yoren let me gather some spices around us and I cooked us a nice rabbit stew with actual flavor for the camp. Lommy’s already tried some. Says it’s amazing.” 

They looked at the skinny boy that was happily spooning his bowl. When he reached for more, Hotpie smacked his hand. 

“We need to feed a hoard of men! There isn’t enough.” 

Just as Lommy has said, the stew was gourmet compared to what they had been eating before on the road. Most of the men praised the cook, others were too busy stuffing their face to bother giving their thanks. Although, Hotpie would say that their stuffing their faces was gratitude enough. 

“I missed this! Real food! Better than that watered down shit they been feeding us for the past moon and a half,” a stranger said aloud to the men huddled together, laughing and jesting amongst each other.

Arya was too busy with her food to bother cracking a smile. Once or twice in that hour, Gendry would whisper a joke in her ear only for her to snort. 

“Aye me too! Ya’ know what else I miss? Women,” another stranger joined. They agreed, a loud uproar of “hear hear’s” echoed in her ears. She turned to see Gendry’s reaction, but he only stared and listened to the men’s clamor. He was handsome, he could get many women. It wasn’t something she was clueless of. But judging by his reaction when they first met, he probably wasn’t very experienced. 

“Ah! The pretty little lad’s misses a lady’s touch as well, apparently! Look at him!”

She shifted uncomfortably at the attention. 

“His head shot upwards at the mention of a woman. What would you know about them?”

Arya swallowed a chunk of her bread, trying to steady her beating heart thudding in her tight chest. 

“Not much. Haven’t been with one.”

They all laughed at her. 

“Ah! So you truly are a boy. Not a man yet. Not surprised, are we fellas?”

“I’ll never forget my first. ‘Bout you guys?”

“I been with a girl. She was pretty, the daughter of a merchant. Let me touch her teats,” Lommy sighed. 

“Shut up! You never touch a girl’s teats before! You bloody liar,” Hotpie accused. 

“I remember my first,” another man shared,” her hair was the color of coal and her eyes the color of emeralds. She was from the summer isles. A nice pair and a nice arse too.” 

Arya wondered why all the men that shared praised sex. It seemed too painful. Penetrating another humans body for pleasure? Not her idea of sexual satisfaction. 

“Remember that lady? The one that took our names? Gods, I wish she took me. She was a feisty one. Nice arse on her. Not many ladies wear breeches, but wasn’t that a sight,” one of the strangers reminisced lewdly. 

Arya stopped breathing. Her. They were talking about her. She chewed slowly on her stiff bread. Gendry side eyed her, concerned. 

“I imagine she would be a nice fuck if she was as ferocious as she acted.” 

Arya swallowed the rest of her mead to help swallow the chunk of food in her dry throat. 

“And the way she rode her horse skillfully, if only she’d ride me that way.”

“Though she wasn’t interested in any of us, was she? Only one she smiled and acted all pretty in front of was the man with the bull helm, ain’t that right lad?”

All eyes were on him. Including Arya’s dreadful ones.

“I guess.” 

Arya finished Gendry’s mead for him. 

“She flashed him a pretty ‘lil smile. Don’t know how you could refrain yourself from whipping out your cock. ‘Stead, you blush like a maiden. Bet she would’ve been the one in charge had you gone further with her than just pretty smiles.” 

Gendry stuttered, embarrassed by the presence of Arya. It was her pale white face that told him he should take her to a spot far away, to where she’ll feel safe. So he did. 

“Ain’t it time we all call it a night? I’m tired,” Gendry hinted at Arry subtly as he could. Luckily the others didn’t catch on to his lingering stare on her. 

“Look the boy is flustered and bothered!”

Arya nodded at him, following after him. 

“Hopefully his boy companion could relieve him!” Another one jested. She walked faster, no longer uncomfortable. She was furious. 

“I’ll stab them with my sword in their sleep if they talk about me that way again! Not even Yoren would be able to stop me.”

“They’re not talking about you. They’re talking about Arya. You’re Arry,” Gendry replied equally uncomfortable. 

She pulled at the growing stubble and uneven locks of hair on her head. She saw red framing her view. Her looks could kill. Gendry continuously tried to calm her. His attempts were futile as she began to kick a tree. She felt like crying. She didn’t know why. She promised before that she’d stop. After her father shortly died, she told herself she wouldn’t cry. She couldn’t. The despaired girl collapsed on her knees. 

“I haven’t bathed in a moon. My chest is compressed agonizingly. My family are moons away from me. These mangy men lust over “Arya’s” body in front of my eyes,” she venomously spewed to the tree. Or was it Gendry? Either way, he was listening. He’d known it before that her father had died and her family was scattered a part. “The Lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.” She had said that before to him. He didn’t understand at first, but now that he knew her house and noble lineage, it made more sense. 

“My father is dead. All because of that wretched king! Because of those Lannister’s! Next time I see a Lannister, I’ll kill them,” she silently promised in the night. Gendry sat next to her, unsure of what to say. It wasn’t often that Ladies threatened to kill. She wasn’t sure it happened often. He could tell her everything was going to get better, but he knew it wouldn’t. When he lived in the streets of flea bottom, he tried to keep a positive outlook once or twice. He eventually gave up. Staying alive was as positive as he was now. He was a man of nine and ten that saw too much to stay hopeful of the days awaiting for him. So he did what a man with his outlook on life would do. He told her the truth. 

Gendry’s large, calloused hand took her small ones, helping her up. She looked up at him with anger still evident in her stormy grey eyes. They looked rabid. He’d be lying if he didn’t admit that he was astounded by them. She was wild, he knew. Had she not told him of her being a Stark, he wouldn’t have known that she grew up in a castle. 

“I don’t need your help,” she snapped harshly. 

“Shut up,” he snapped back, equally harsh. 

She opened her mouth to verbally attack him. Gendry beat her to it. 

“No, don’t fight back. Breathe. Your business with the Lannister’s is nothing for me to concern myself over. They did you wrong, but right now, you need to pay attention to living. Now stop complaining. Let’s go sleep. Yoren is probably shitting himself right now because you’re not in the camp’s sight.” 

Huffing, she wordlessly followed him. 

Despite her being mad, she lay between Gendry and Hotpie. In a slight effort of retaliation, she lay closer to the fat man instead of him. 

Perhaps he had been slightly blunt. He could’ve been meaner. He had been meaner before to her. But he didn’t dwell long, he was fast asleep when he saw Arya’s breathing slow down.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, look, there’s a lot of differences and this is a mixture of the books and show for reasons that I won’t say because I don’t have any. I can do whatever I want with this because I just can. So enjoy. Also, I don’t know how much I’ll be writing. I’m always actively procrastinating.


End file.
